Through the Dimensional Void
by Lumina Solaris
Summary: Harry wasn't thinking when he lunged into the Veil after Sirius, and he certainly didn't expect to be sent to another world. Unfortunately for him, there are demons in this other world, and they are very interested in Harry. This certainly catches the attention of two hunters, who aren't going to simply let this mysterious kid out of their sight until they figure him out.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! So, this is a new story that I am starting, since I love both Harry Potter and Supernatural so much! Plus, I think that there needs to be more crossovers of these two particular series'.

WARNING: There will be some violence and swearing in this story. If you do not wish to read that, then this story is not for you. It won't be dropping the F-bomb every other sentence, but words like that will pop up. If you watch Supernatural and have read Harry Potter, however, I am assuming that violence and swearing will not be much of a problem. This story will NOT be slash, as much as I love it, because I cannot write that stuff for the life of me, and I feel that there is enough HP/SPN slash out there, already. This is for those who want a lot of plot.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with.

This takes place at the end of Harry's fifth year and at the beginning of Supernatural's fourth season.

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"NO! Sirius!" screamed Harry, watching with wide, disbelieving eyes as his godfather, Sirius Black, fell back into the veil.

It wasn't okay, and it wasn't right. Harry had endured the Dursleys and their less-than-nurturing treatment of him, and Sirius had offered to let Harry live with him as soon as he got proven innocent. How could Harry have let Sirius fall? He should have been watching, paying attention; he had come here because of worry about Sirius, anyway, so why hadn't he been paying more attention to the man? Harry could vaguely register insane, high-pitched laughter coming from Bellatrix as she openly gloated over her defeat of Sirius. It didn't matter. Sirius was gone.

In that moment, Harry did something rash, something that, in his right mind, he would have considered first. However, for all that he would come to regret it later, he didn't consider what he was doing. He simply did the first thing that came into his mind.

He lunged into the veil after Sirius, through the cries of those around him, straight into the unknown.

…

Nothing. Harry could not feel, hear, see, or smell anything. Hell, he couldn't even taste anything, not that tasting things was high on his list of things he wanted at that moment, but still, the sense of… nothing… was unnerving, to say the least.

"Hello?" he said, not particularly because he expected an answer, but because the silence and absence of anything was bothering him. His voice echoed, he noted absently.

He was surprised, however, when a voice responded.

"Hello, Harry James Potter," said a voice which could not be determined as either male or female. This voice did not echo as Harry's voice had, which Harry found to be a bit disturbing.

"Um… hi?" he said tentatively. When the voice did not respond, he decided to say something else.

"Uh, where am I? What is this?"

"You are in the Dimensional Void. This is the Dimensional Void," it said emotionlessly.

Harry would have frowned if he could feel his face. What was this thing, a robot?

"Okay," Harry said, going for a different angle, "what is the Dimensional Void?"

"The Dimensional Void is the place where separate realities meet. You are in the Dimensional Void," it said again.

"Yes, I'd gathered that," said Harry with a hint of frustration, "but what does that mean?"

"It means that you are in the Dimensional Void."

_Okay, this is just annoying_, thought Harry.

"Well, why am I in this Dimensional Void?" he asked, trying to get an answer that would actually help him understand what the hell was going on.

"You passed through the Veil," the voice said. "Your fate will be decided, and you will be sent to a universe suited to your judgment."

"Wait, what? 'Your fate will be decided'? Who decides my fate?"

"The answer to your question cannot be given."

"Well, then, what happens now?"

"You will wait while your fate is decided, and then you will be sent to a universe suited to your judgment."

"So, what?" Harry asked, angry that the voice was continuing to give vague and confusing answers. It was worse than Dumbledore. All it did was repeat itself. "I'll just be dumped into to some other universe, with aliens or something?"

"You will be sent to Earth."

"But you just said that I would be sent to another universe!"

"You will be sent to an alternate universe, to an alternate Earth, like the others who passed through the veil."

Finally, some actually useful information.

"Will Sirius be there?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sirius Black III passed through the veil and was judged. It cannot be confirmed whether he was sent to the same universe and reality to which you will be sent."

"Well, great. Fat load of help, you are," Harry mumbled.

Suddenly, the voice spoke again, though not in response to Harry's mumblings.

"Your fate has been determined," it said. "You will be sent to your assigned universe, to a location which has also been determined. Due to your age, you will be given a pack containing essentials and anything else determined to be useful and necessary to your circumstance."

Harry was about to protest, but before he could, he was waking up, and he opened his eyes to find himself someplace which certainly was not the Department of Mysteries.

First of all, he was in the forest. It was in the afternoon, Harry had to say, from the sun. A good thing, Harry noted, was that he could hear cars in the distance, even though he was surrounded by trees, so he couldn't be in any place too in the middle of nowhere. The first thing that Harry noticed, besides that, was that the air was… odd. He wasn't sure how it was odd, exactly, but it was different from what he was used to. He stayed laying there, on the ground, for a couple of minutes before he realized that what he was feeling was rather similar to the feeling he got whenever he cast a spell. So it wasn't the air that was odd; it was the magic. Harry couldn't quite describe what was different about it, though.

Setting the thought aside for later consideration, Harry stood up. There was a brown pack on his back, not very heavy at all, and the material was a bit worn. He took it off, wondering what was in it. The voice in the Dimensional Void had said that it would have 'essentials,' and he wanted to know what it considered essential.

He unzipped the first pouch and looked in. However, he couldn't see anything. It wasn't that the bag was empty or anything, but he literally could not see inside the pouch. Confused and a bit hesitant, he reached a hand in. And he continued to reach. He couldn't feel a bottom, which was rather creepy, because he really wasn't sure where all the space was coming from, and he had just stuck his hand into it. As far as he could gather, it must have been like one of the wizarding tents that everyone had used at the World Cup in the summer before his fourth year which were much larger on the inside.

Just then, randomly, the thought hit Harry that he didn't have his wand, and he was sure that he had been holding it before he fell into the veil. As the thought crossed his mind, his hand finally landed on something. It was a familiar long, thin, piece of wood, and, as he took hold of it, a small surge of magic and a sense of rightness went through Harry.

'_Huh_,' thought Harry, '_It must only work when I am thinking of something in particular_.' That was useful information. Harry wondered what the other zip pouch was for, since the pack had two of them. Putting his wand in his pocket where he usually kept it, Harry started off in the direction where he could hear the cars. Shortly, he found himself at a road.

Considering that he didn't even know where he was, Harry thought that it would be okay to hitchhike, even though everyone knew that hitchhiking could potentially lead to bad situations. So, he stood on the side of the road with a thumb up, waiting for a car to stop.

It didn't take very long. Only four cars had passed him without pause before a Blue Sedan pulled over and rolled down the windows. A woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties with a round face, kind brown eyes, and curly blond hair was in the driver's seat, which was on the wrong side. Leaning over to better talk to him, the woman said with an American accent, "Hello there, sweetie. You need a ride?"

Harry nodded.

"Where to?" the woman asked.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure, Ma'am. The nearest cheap hotel, I guess."

The woman's eyes brightened. "Oh! You're English! How adorable! And so polite, too," she said with a smile. Harry blushed a bit and looked down. He wasn't often complimented for things like that. The Dursleys certainly never complemented him, and, at Hogwarts, it seemed the only compliments he got were from girls trying to get his attention, but it was only because he was Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, rather than because any of them took an actual interest in him.

"Well, here, sweetie," the woman said, nodding her head, "You just come on in, and I will drop you off after I run a quick errand."

Harry, hoping that he wasn't making a mistake, got into the car. Somehow, though, he had a feeling that this woman would not hurt him.

"I'm Josie Millerton," she said, pulling back onto the road. "We'll just be going down to Eastridge Animal Center, where I work. I need to drop off some paperwork." She glanced over at him. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Harry," he said. Then, after a pause, he added, "Potter."

"Well, Harry Potter, what are you doing hitchhiking off the side of South 5th Street?"

Harry frowned, not really sure what he was supposed to tell this woman. Following the same instinct to tell the woman his name, Harry decided to simply tell her a partial truth.

"Um, I'm not really sure. Where is here, anyway?"

Josie gave him a funny look, one of her eyebrows going up. "You don't even know where you are? Honey, you must be in some situation." Giving him another small smile, she said, "You are in Chariton, Iowa."

"That's in America, right?" Harry asked, not really sure.

"Uh-huh," Josie said, her eyes on the road. "Here," she said, pulling up to a building. "Come on," she said, motioning in. "I'm not going to leave a stranger, sweet as you are, in my car unsupervised." With that, she went into the building. Harry followed. After dropping off her folder of papers, they were back out and back into the car.

"Honey," Josie said, pulling back onto the road, "I'm going to take you back to my house first, okay? How old are you, anyway? You look to be only thirteen or fourteen."

Harry grimaced a bit. Everyone thought he was younger than he actually was, just because he was a bit short. "I'm fifteen," he said. He wasn't sure about going to this woman's house, but he didn't really know what else to do. It wasn't like he knew anyone else. With that thought in mind, he agreed.

Soon enough they were pulling into a house. Inside, there was a man who looked to be around the same age as Josie, with blue eyes and balding grey-white hair. He looked at Harry for a couple of seconds before he turned his eyes to Josie.

"Josie, darling," he said slowly, "Who is this?"

"This is Harry," Josie said triumphantly.

"Yes, well, hi, Harry," he said to Harry before turning back to Josie. "What is Harry doing here?"

Josie suddenly got a determined gleam in her eyes. "I've decided that he's going to be staying here with us for a little while."

Harry stared at her in surprise. He hadn't agreed to that.

The man's eye twitched a bit as he stared at Josie. "You've decided that, huh?"

"Yup," said Josie, confidently.

The man sighed. "Darling, you can't keep bringing home random people and letting them stay at our house."

Josie huffed a bit. "I've only done it three times."

"Yes, and that is far too many," the man continued.

"Come on, Frank," Josie pleaded. "It will only be for a couple of days. I know you miss Jason and Kyle, and you don't even need to worry about him. You can leave the worrying to me."

Frank stared long and hard at Josie before he finally looked up at the ceiling in helplessness. Then, he nodded.

…

Harry stayed with Josie and Frank Millerton for four days without trouble. They were a kind couple, even Frank, who, despite all of the fuss in the beginning, took an easy liking to Harry. As it turned out, the couple had two sons, the Jason and Kyle that had been mentioned by Josie on that first night, both in their twenties, and they were both out fighting for the army. Josie and Frank were lonely, and they actually did enjoy Harry's company much more than Frank was willing to admit.

Thankfully, neither of the two bothered Harry about why he was in America without a parent or guardian or how he had even gotten there. Josie said that it was Harry's life, and that, judging from what she knew so far, which was still very little, she didn't really want to know, because it would probably be very confusing, and she just didn't want to deal with it. She was content to pretend that nothing unusual was going on.

Harry had been surprised to find out that it was in late September, 2008. That certainly was not the year that he had left. However, he decided that it was probably a result of going through the Dimensional Void, and so he didn't pay it much mind.

On Harry's fifth day with the Millertons, Harry had just finished helping Josie out with the dishes (he was used to doing chores for the Dursleys, and he already felt like a burden on the couple, so he thought that the least that he could do was help with the chores. Josie and Frank insisted that they work on the chores with him, though, since both of them seemed to have some strange obligation to not allow their 'guests' to do much work) and he was lounging on the couch, watching a bit of telly, when the doorbell rang. Josie went to answer it, and Harry could hear her as she spoke to the person at the door.

"Hello," she said kindly, as usual. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes," replied a female voice. "You can get out of my way."

"Excuse me?" said Josie, offended.

Harry started to get up.

"I said get out of my way, old hag!" the voice said loudly.

"You can't just come barging into my house and-"

Whatever Josie had been about to say was cut off, and, suddenly, there was only the sound of a gasping, gurgling sound. Harry turned into the hall to see Josie fall over, hands grasping her throat, which was sliced with blood running down, too much blood.

"Josie!" Harry yelled, rushing over to her. However, he could not do anything. She was dead.

Harry looked up furiously at the woman who had been at the door. She was casually standing there, wiping the blood off of her blade, staring at Harry with a strange gleam in her eyes.

Suddenly, Frank came rushing in, having heard Harry yell Josie's name. "What's going on?" he demanded before his eyes landed on Josie's fallen form. His eyes flicked from the slit in Josie's neck, to the woman with the knife, to Harry, who was holding onto Josie's body with tears running down his face.

Frank turned and ran to the woman, his eyes alight with fury. "You bitch!" he yelled, running straight at her. The woman, with long black hair and an angular face, simply smiled as Frank neared her. With a movement which seemed too fast, she had the knife in front of her, and it stabbed right into Frank's chest. Frank gasped and fell to the floor, grabbing the wound. He looked up that the woman and managed to gasp out a dreadful, "Why?" before slumping over, limp.

He was dead.

Both Josie and Frank were dead.

And Harry, who was not fast enough to save Frank, was left standing there, staring at the woman who had killed the only two people that he knew in that world.

And the woman stared right back, her mouth curling into a cruel grin that made her face look far uglier than it should look. However, that wasn't what got Harry's attention.

No, because the thing that caught Harry's attention were the woman's eyes, which had gone from being blue-grey to completely black, even the whites of her eyes.

And then the woman with the black eyes and the twisted smile said one thing: "Hello."

…

"So, get this," Sam said, turning his laptop toward his older brother, Dean, who had just returned to the hotel with their food. "There's this little town in Iowa called Chariton where three deaths have just happened. Now, this could just be a regular killer, but Bobby says that some other hunters called in to say that some of the demons had just up and disappeared for no reason the day before these killings happened."

"And you think it's connected?" asked Dean, pulling out a chair and taking his huge burger out of the fast-food bag. He took a huge bite, looking at Sam, waiting for him to continue.

"Yeah. See, When Bobby called to let us know, I did some research to see if anything big seemed to be going on. There was nothing in any of the newspapers, but I decided to look into the police files. These three deaths weren't released to the public because it is a small town, and they didn't want people to panic while they did the investigation, but they still don't know what they are dealing with. It's a bit of a stretch, but it's the only thing that has happened since some of the demons disappeared, and I'm willing to bet that they are connected."

Dean nodded. "Sounds good enough for me. We'll head out tonight."

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Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I will be writing the next chapter, and I already have some of it done, but I do not know when I will be updating. It will probably within the next week, though.

Remember, reviews encourage writers to update faster, because it makes us want to write when we know that people are enjoying our stories! So, please, if you could spare the time, drop a review for me, and I would greatly appreciate it! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and anything else you thought about it, and, please, if you find any mistakes, inform me so that I can fix them as soon as possible.

(Also, if you are looking for another story to start, check out Saiyagirl95's "Where Angels Fear to Tread." She is one of my best friends, and she has wonderful writing skills. It's a Harry Potter fanfiction, and her idea is very original in the way that it progresses. It's a very good read!)

Thank you for reading, and be sure to leave a review if you can!


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, there! So, I hadn't planned on updating this fast, but you guys were so awesome that I just had to write more! Honestly, I did not expect to get over 100 followers, over 50 favorites, and 18 reviews with just one chapter! You guys are amazing! And, no, I don't know what pairings I will use, if I decide to do pairings at all. Like I said, this fic is going to be mostly plot. And thank you to Saiyagirl95, who read over my chapter for mistakes! You are great! ^.^

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. I also do not own the song 'Renegade' by Styx.

Note: Also, the last names that Sam and Dean use as their FBI agent names are the last name of the bass and the last name of the drummer from the band Kansas, which you all would probably know for their song 'Carry On My Wayward Son,' because it was the opening (recap) song for Supernatural for quite a while.

And, with that, I give you Chapter Two!

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"You sure do have a lot of power, don't you?" The woman was walking up to Harry with swaying hips. She exuded an aura of confidence in herself as she swaggered over, and some part of Harry's mind would have laughed at how ridiculous she looked walking like that, if the situation hadn't been so obviously dangerous.

Harry backed away as the woman got closer. Honestly, she seemed to have no concept of personal space.

"Ohh, I can just _feel_ it coming off of you in waves…" Her eyes went a bit hazy and unfocused as she talked, and it was really creeping Harry out. What the hell was this woman's deal? "And such pretty eyes," she continued, looking him over.

She then moved even closer, and Harry scrambled to back away as she whispered, "What are you?" reverently.

"Oh, well," she said, sighing wistfully. "I suppose it doesn't matter one way or another. That power will be mine soon enough."

"See," she said as her eyes locked onto his and a grin crept onto her face, "They thought that I wouldn't be smart enough to locate you first… whatever you are. Anyway, they were all stupid, thinking that they would be better than me because they are older. But, oh, they aren't as smart as me," she said, grinning to herself.

Meanwhile, Harry was desperately trying as hard as he could to wandlessly and wordlessly summon his wand. If he could get his wand, he could stupefy this psycho, and then he could figure out what to do from there.

However, he didn't get the chance to even try, because, as quickly as the woman had started her ramblings, she was done. Suddenly, the woman opened her mouth wide and screamed horribly, a cloud of thick, black smoke pouring out of her mouth and into the air in front of her. Then, the woman collapsed, limp on the floor, and the smoke went straight toward Harry, and Harry's eyes widened as he scrambled backward, away from the smoke. He wished he had his wand.

Suddenly, the smoke was entering him, clouding around his mind like a suffocating fog. And it hurt like hell. It was pounding at his mind, like Snape with his Legilimency, except much worse. The smoke was violent, and Harry could _feel_ its anger. Harry grabbed his head and fell to the floor in agony. However, as much as the smoke was trying to gain entrance to his mind, it was failing. Harry felt his magic bubble up inside of him, and then there was a battle inside of Harry's head, as the smoke and his magic attacked each other. It was like two great waves clashing up against each other, and it certainly was not a pleasant feeling by any means. However, the smoke was being overpowered as more of Harry's magic swelled up inside of him, and, suddenly, as swiftly as it entered, it swooshed out of Harry, taking the pain with it.

The smoke rushed back into the abandoned body of the black-haired woman, and then she was getting up, a snarl on her face, and Harry became even more desperate for his wand. What if that thing tried to take him over again? That had been painful, and Harry wasn't certain that his magic would be able to fight that thing off another time if it decided to attack his mind again.

_'Come on, Harry_,' he thought to himself,_ 'you can do this! You've faced Voldemort multiple times and came out alive, so you should be able to manage one simple summoning charm!' _And with that thought, began the mantra of, '_Accio, Accio, Accio!_' inside Harry's mind, as he pictured his holly wand flying into his hand.

Much to Harry's surprise and utter relief, his wand came soaring straight into his hand after a good bit of mind-chanting on his part. The woman was furious, now.

"What was that?! What the fuck was that?! How did you do that?!" She was advancing on him, once again, but then she paused for a second when she saw the wand come flying into Harry's grasp. "What's this? Telekinesis, too? Well, no matter; a stick isn't going to help you very much, _sweetie_, and you'll be coming with me."

Just as she made to grab for Harry, he pointed his wand at her and shouted, _"Stupefy!"_ With a flash of red light, she fell over.

As soon as she was down, Harry slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. That mind-barrage of hers had taken quite a bit of energy out of Harry, and he needed a minute to recuperate. After about a minute of simple breathing, Harry lifted his head enough to rest his gaze on the unconscious woman.

With a muttered _Incarcerous_ and _Obscuro_, the woman was bound in ropes and blindfolded. Harry didn't know what he was going to do, but, since the woman clearly wasn't human, he didn't know when she would recover from the _Stupefy_. Then again, he figured that if she did wake up and decide to mentally attack him as smoke again, his binding spells wouldn't do much to prevent that, but Harry figured that it certainly wouldn't hurt his cause.

…

_"Hangman is comin' down from the gallows, and I don't have very long!"_

Dean was singing along to one of 'his' songs. At one time, Sam would have complained at the choice of music, but, by this point, he was used to it. Besides, it was better than having to listen to Dean constantly complaining about Sam corrupting his baby with his iPod, which happened any time Sam tried to turn on some modern music.

"Turn left," he said, interrupting Dean in the middle of his singing.

"What?"

"Turn left," Sam said, pointing at the oncoming street. "That's the morgue, right there."

"I knew that," said Dean gruffly.

"Yeah, of course you did," agreed Sam sarcastically.

Soon enough, both of them were getting out of the Impala and entering the morgue. There was a desk with a lot of papers splayed around the surface, but there was no one actually sitting there. Sam and Dean gave each other significant looks before they started rifling through the papers. None of the sheets held the information that they were looking for, though. Then, a clang came from a back room, from behind a door to the left of the desk. Sam and Dean abruptly stopped for a second, waiting, before shuffling the papers back to where they had originally been. When everything looked as it had when they walked in, Sam cleared his throat before loudly saying, "Hello?"

There was another clang from the other room before a voice called out, "Oh, just a minute. Sorry, I didn't know that there would be anyone visiting today. I didn't have any appointments…" The voice trailed off, and a man in a lab coat came bustling through the door, taking papers off of his clipboard and putting them in a file in one of the key-locked file cabinets running along the wall.

When the man was done, he turned to the two brothers, and, with a smile (which Dean thought odd, considering his job. Really, what kind of nutjob smiles while working with a bunch of dead bodies?), he said, "What can I do for you boys? You here to identify a body?"

Now Dean and Sam were both thoroughly disturbed. The guy had continued smiling even as he had asked them his question, as if he thought the idea pleasant. And it wasn't just the fact that he was smiling; it was the smile itself, which was just plain creepy when paired up with the unnatural gleam in his eyes.

Keeping a straight face, Dean said, "No, we're not here for identification. We'll be needing to see the bodies, though."

"Oh?" asked the man, his grey eyes widening.

Dean pulled out his fake FBI identification, Sam following suit.

The older man in the lab coat, who was actually rather frail-looking, squinted at the identification cards suspiciously, and Sam and Dean began to think that they had been caught, before the man broke out into another grin.

"FBI, huh?" he asked, all teeth. "We haven't had FBI around these parts in years. Well, we haven't had murders in many years, so I guess there wasn't much need for any government agents to come snooping around here," he said, before adding, "No offense."

Yes, because Sam and Dean were _really _going to take offense at that, when they weren't even agents in the first place. However, the man didn't know that.

"Yes, well," Dean said gruffly, "a triple murder gets our attention."

The older man nodded his head, looking back down at his papers before glancing back up at Dean and Sam. "Yes, Agents… Hope and… Ehurt, was it?"

"Ehart," Sam corrected.

"Yes, yes, that was it," the man mumbled to himself, shuffling over to his filing cabinet again and retrieving some papers from the drawer above the one into which he had just previously put his files.

"Yes, if you would follow me," the older man said, once again smiling like he was about to give a tour of his favorite gardens or something equally lovely.

Sam and Dean were then led into the room to the left of the desk, in which the creepy man had been clattering around, earlier.

It was a normal morgue examination room, equipped with many different scalpels and various other medical instruments, with four long examination tables and a wall lined with large metal doors, each containing a pull-out drawer for bodies to be stored.

The older man then made his way over to the metal drawers before turning back to Sam and Dean. "Which body do you want to see first?" he asked, his eyes flicking back to the drawers. A glint of pride entered his voice and eyes as he announced, "I just finished cleaning all three of them this morning, so you agents made good timing."

"Ah, yeah, that's… good," Sam said, just as disturbed by the man as his older brother. Honestly, who knew what kind of perverted things the guy did in his spare time? Sam, personally, would not want to leave _any_ bodies with this nutzo.

"Well, it doesn't really matter which one we see first," said Dean. "We'll have to see all three, anyway."

"Yes, I see," the man said, nodding enthusiastically. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a set of keys, and he quickly unlocked one of the metal doors. Thankfully, because it was the morgue, and the bodies were new and (questionably) cared for, there was no overwhelming scent of death, for which Sam and Dean were both grateful. However, the smell of antiseptic was rather strong.

"This is the first one we found, two days ago," the man explained as he pulled out the long, flat drawer, on which there was a body covered in cloudy-clear plastic. "Male, in his mid-thirties," he continued, pulling down the plastic to reveal the body.

Sure enough, it was a young but nearing middle-aged man, paler than was healthy (obviously, seeing as he was _dead_), with blond hair that had just barely begun to recede. There was a slice on his neck, across the jugular, but it was sloppy, both Sam and Dean noticed with a shared look. Someone had been angry when they did this, which meant that it was probably not a planned kill, which pretty much bumped serial killers off of the list of suspects.

Sam cleared his throat, looking back at the lab-coat man (who had actually never introduced himself with a name). "Is there anything that we should know about this body or either of the others, anything strange but not evident on the first look?"

"No," the man said, shaking his head. "There's just the slice across the jugular, same on all three."

The man proceeded to show the other two bodies also, both female, one in her late forties, and one in her early thirties. None of the victims were related in any way, and, though two of them had blond hair, it did not look like there was a pattern, besides that all three neck slices were quick and angry, and that the slices themselves had come from the same type of knife.

Sam and Dean excused themselves for a moment, going into the other room to talk.

"So," Dean said, looking at his brother, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Sam looked at Dean questioningly. "Demons?"

"Yeah," agreed Dean. "It definitely doesn't look like a serial killer," he said, shaking his head slowly and narrowing his eyes in thought.

"No," Sam said, adding on, "and, really, in a small town like this one, the odds of having three deaths in just two days, when crime here was practically non-existent before, are, like, zilch. Add that to all the demons high-tailing it to who-knows-where four days ago, and I'd say that demons are probably behind this."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, nodding. "We'd better go ask around town, look for anything suspicious lately."

With that agreement, both Sam and Dean were quick to give their goodbyes to the weird morgue-worker, who seemed disturbingly disappointed that the two 'agents' had to be leaving already.

"Feel free to come back any time," he said with another grin.

"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, and both brothers nodded at the guy before exiting the morgue. As soon as they were out of the doors, they quickened their pace to the car.

"Dude, that guy was fucking creepy," Dean said, shaking his head subtly as he got into the car. "Come back soon," he mimicked, "be sure to come back and see all of my creepy-ass dead bodies that I probably molest in my spare time!"

Sam frowned distastefully, essentially putting on what Dean had labeled "The Bitch-Face." However, he did have to agree that the man had been creepy.

"So," Dean asked, pulling out of the parking spot, "where to for the info?"

Sam pulled out his book of maps, flipping a couple of pages. "Uh," he began, "There's a mall about ten minutes away from here, and we could head over there and just ask around to see if anybody new has shown up in town in the last four days, or if anyone has been acting strangely at all, that anyone has noticed."

Dean nodded, turning up his car stereo, singing loudly to the song that was now blasting moderately loud.

_"The jig is up, the news is out, they've finally found me. The renegade who had it made retrieved for a bounty. Never more to go astray, this will be the end todaaaay, of a wanted man!"_

Sam was frowning again, looking at his brother in annoyance. "We were listening to this song when we were driving here," he said exasperatedly to his brother.

"Yeah?" Dean said, and it wasn't possible to be certain from the way that he said it whether it was a question or simply a word of agreement. "I like this song," he said before singing along to the next line.

"So," Sam asked, still frowning, "Why are we listening to it again?"

"Because I like it," Dean repeated. "Listen, Sammy, like I said: my car, my music. Besides," he said, turning the music up a bit, "I can't hear the song if you're over there bitching over it the whole time it's playing."

…

At the mall, the two brothers had gone around with their fake FBI id cards, questioning the civilians. It took quite a bit of time before they actually got one woman to give some details on the latest gossip, which was actually to their interest.

"Well, there was one person," she said, nodding her head so that her brown curls bounced a bit. "He was – No, Terry, put that down! That isn't yours!" She scolded her son, chasing after him and then dragging him back over with her to the 'FBI Agents.'

"Sorry about that," she said, grinning fondly at her son, who was humming as he looked around the mall with interest. "As I was saying, Josie Millerton picked up a boy on South 5th Street, I heard, oh-what?… about five days ago."

"I see," said Sam. "Would you say that there was anything suspicious about his behavior?"

The woman frowned. "Well," she said, quirking her head a bit, "this isn't the first time Josie Millerton has dragged in a stray. Her husband sure does throw a bit of a fit each time she does it, so I've been told. Of the how, though, nobody's really sure. As far as I know, he won't explain his past – just showed up out of the blue!"

"Could you tell us where these Millertons live?" asked Dean, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.

"Well, sure! They live just off Osage Ave., the fourth house to the right, if my memory serves me proper." She then proceeded to give directions to the street from the mall, and Sam and Dean both thanked her before making their way back out to the Impala.

…

The drive to the house did not take very long at all. They pulled up to the driveway and got out of the car. Walking up to the front door, they noticed that the door was open, just a crack. It was silent from what they could hear, but the lights were on, and there were two cars parked in the garage, which was still open. Sam and Dean shared a glance before they both pulled out a gun.

Moving silently, Dean slowly opened the door wider, and the first thing that caught his eye was the dead body of a balding man, slumped over, with a wound that had bled quite a bit on his chest. Dean checked the pulse, just to be sure that the man was actually dead rather than just passed out and wounded (though there was too much blood lost, Dean thought, for him to be living, but he still had to check). Indeed, the man was dead. The second thing he noticed, as he moved farther into the hall, Sam following, was the woman laid on the floor, also dead, with a slit across her throat almost identical to the ones on the three victims that had been at the morgue. She was definitely dead.

Then he noticed the black-haired woman, leaned up against the wall, blindfolded, tied up, and unconscious. Across from her, also slumped against the wall, was a scrawny teenage boy with wild black hair, his bright green eyes watching them with caution as the two brothers caught sight of him.

Seeing as he was the only person that they had encountered so far who was alive and awake, Dean focused his gun on the kid, glancing back between him and the bound, unconscious woman. Sam did the same.

Finally, Dean simply said, "What the hell?"

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So, that's it. Sorry about the cliffhanger, but I didn't want to end it before there because I wanted to at least get to the meeting between the brothers and Harry, and I wanted to post this before I go to practice for my voice recital with my vocal coach. I didn't want to make you guys wait.

Thank you for reading, and be sure to review if you can. Also, favorite and/or follow the story if you like it, because it helps me know how many of you are actually reading it rather than those who just click but don't end up reading it because they don't like it. The visitor count isn't really accurate in telling me how many people like the story.

Feel free to suggest things in reviews that you would like to see happen in this fic, and I will try to fit them in. I won't make any promises, but, if the idea is a good one, I can probably work it into the plot.

Again, thank you, and I will try to update within a week, if I can!


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, guys!

So, yeah… about how I said I would try to update within the week… funny story… I got sucked into studying for finals and my AP exams, which, for those of you who are not American or simply have no idea what that means, are exams for college-level classes that can be taken in high school. Essentially, the results of the exam decide whether the student gets college credit for the class, so it's pretty important.

Anyway, after that, I was so tired of exams and writing that I couldn't get very much out. And, yes, I am aware that it has been, like, a month since my last update, and I am SO sorry about that. But, then, today, inspiration hit, taking over the writer's block that has been beating me up since the last update! So, I wrote my butt off, and this is what came out, and I am pretty happy with it, if I do say so myself. I'm excited for summer, though, since I'll hopefully get a lot more free time for writing!

Once again, thank you to Saiyagirl95, who read over my chapter for mistakes! You are great! ^.^

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. Also, the exorcism read by Sam in this chapter was taken out of episode 12 of season three of Supernatural. Woo, exorcism!

Well, enough of that! Here is the chapter!

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Harry stared.

"What the hell?" the first man asked as he leveled his gun at Harry's face. He held the bearings of a soldier, and it gave him an edge. His posture, paired with the intense and guarded look in his greenish eyes, gave Harry the impression that this man was serious. Well, that was rather obvious considering the gun, but his stance made him even more so. He seemed to be focusing on Harry intensely, looking for something. The man behind him, who Harry rather thought resembled a moose, came around and closer to Harry.

And that was when Harry was hit with a feeling of _wrong_, a darkness that wasn't natural by any means. It seemed to be overflowing from Moose-man, who suddenly seemed much more intimidating, if his stature hadn't made him so in the first place. There was darkness, a _hungry_ darkness, coiling out from the man, seeping from his pores practically, and, though Harry couldn't actually see anything wrong, he could feel it, and it was remarkably similar to the aura that surrounded Voldemort. This instantly put Harry on guard, more so around this man than the intense one.

Moose-man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little bottle, and Harry thought that he was perhaps about to take a swig (which made Harry think about the fake Moody), but he didn't. Instead, much to Harry's astonishment, he uncapped it and promptly splashed it all over Harry.

This time it was Harry's turn to say, "What the hell?"

The two men had watched him as the liquid, which, as far as Harry knew, appeared to be simple water, soaked into his clothes and dripped from his hair. They both looked like they had been expecting him to melt on the spot. What did they think he was, the witch from that movie that Hermione had told him about, with the tornadoes and flying monkeys? Granted, he _did_ have magic, but he certainly wasn't green.

The two men both seemed to draw some sort of agreed conclusion from his reaction, because they both lowered their guns, though Harry noticed that neither of them put their guns away.

Intense guy finally asked Harry, "You didn't kill these people?"

Harry shook his head, removing his glasses from his face and wiping them dry on a section of his shirt that wasn't wet. He put his glasses back onto his face and pointed at the woman bound and slumped against the wall.

"She did," he said.

The man glanced from Harry to the woman, to Moose-man, and then back to Harry. Moose-man gave a small nod, and, with that, the first man moved over to the psycho woman. He then pulled out his own miniature bottle and allowed some to drip onto the woman's arm. Suddenly, her flesh was burning, and Harry knew that had to hurt. However, the woman, still under the effects of the _Stupefy_, simply twitched about twice before her skin stopped sizzling.

The intense man, who seemed to have some sort of internal suspicion confirmed, now looked at Harry, again, with disbelief. "You managed to knock out, tie up, and blindfold a demon? How?"

Seeing as Harry was the only person there to have done those things, what with the other two of the house's recent inhabitants being dead, this left Harry in a bit of a pickle, one could say. He had been hoping to lay low, but it seemed, so far, that he was failing at that spectacularly.

So, he embraced his Slytherin side, the one the Sorting Hat had been so adamant was there, and prepared to lie straight through his teeth.

However, he didn't get the chance, because the woman was now twitching, and this time there was no excuse of burning flesh to use as reason for her movement. No, she was struggling against his _Stupefy_, and she would be conscious again soon.

The other two also seemed to realize that she was waking up from whatever had caused her unconsciousness, and they both scrambled into action, temporarily forgetting Harry - or, at least, the questioning of him. Harry could tell that they were both keeping aware of him as they worked.

Moose-man quickly left the hall area, and, about a minute later, came back with a chair from the kitchen, and he placed it to the side in the living room. Then, he yanked up the rug in the centre of the room and shoved it aside, along with some of the furniture. He then placed the chair in the middle.

Some part of Harry had to marvel at him as he did all of it, because Harry would have never been able to do all of that, and certainly not alone. He had muscle, yes, from Quidditch and all of his days of running from Dudley and his gang whenever they decided that it was time for some 'Harry Hunting,' but he wasn't nearly strong enough to move a huge couch by himself that quickly. Moose-man seemed to do it with ease, and Harry silently mused that the title 'Moose-man' now fit him even more so.

Meanwhile, the more intense guy had whipped out chalk from seemingly nowhere and was now drawing all over the wood paneling.

Suddenly, Harry was reminded of Mrs. Weasley when Fred and George had been testing a prank which went wrong, and the floor had ended up coated with rainbow-colored slime. She had been in a fit, and both of the twins had known it, and she had given them a right yelling-to, and Harry remembered her saying something along the lines of: "Your foolish pranks are always going wrong! Merlin help me, if you so much as speak wrong in the next week, I will personally see that neither of you leaves this house for a month!" which caused one of the two, Fred, Harry thought, to mention that they would be leaving for school in two weeks anyway, which had infuriated Mrs. Weasley even more, until Mr. Weasley had come in and calmed her down. With a pang, Harry realized that, if he couldn't find a way back into his world, he would never see any of the Weasleys again, or Hermione, or any of his other friends.

Intense man seemed to be finishing up his drawing, and Harry could tell that it wasn't just any drawing. It was a circle with a lot of different shapes and what Harry thought looked like runes encompassed. Had Hermione been with him, Harry thought that she would probably know what they meant, and, he knew for certain that if she, on the off chance, didn't actually know what they meant, that she would be at the library until curfew figuring it out.

Moose-man, while the other one was drawing all over the paneling with chalk, had gone to retrieve a really old looking book.

It seemed that they had finished all of their set-up just in time, because, with a final few twitches, the woman woke up.

She pulled her head up a bit and twisted it around, and, had she not been blindfolded, Harry would have thought her to be surveying the room.

"Oh, I'm in a chair now," she said with a little grin. "How cute." Harry, frankly, didn't think she had much to be grinning about, but, hey, whatever.

The intense guy yanked off her blindfold none-too-kindly, and the woman's dark eyes greedily soaked up the image presented by the two men.

"Oh, an audience," she said as she cranked her head to the side, cracking her neck loudly without care. "Wow, no hospitality," she said with a smirk. "This chair sure is stiff…" she trailed off.

"Shut up," the intense guy snapped, stepping forward a bit. "What are you doing here?"

The woman gave a faux-frown as she quipped, "Well, I thought you wanted me to shut up? Make up your mind, sweetie."

This seemed to ruffle intense guy, because he snapped back, "Answer me, bitch!"

"Well, now, don't get your panties in a twist, Mr. Boy-Scout; I'm getting to it!"she said, rolling her eyes. She then licked her lips, and her eyes seemed to bleed into an inky black as she asked with a voice of sickly sugar, "Why would I tell you?"

"Because, in case you hadn't noticed, you're trapped," the man said, glancing down at his chalk diagram.

"Oh, no!" she said in a false-scared tone, as her black eyes widened. "Whatever shall I do?" Her inky eyes narrowed as she then questioned, "You two, you must be the ever-famous Winchesters. Am I right? One of you has been naughty, so I've heard," she said teasingly.

The first man seemed to freeze slightly before brushing it off, after a glance to the other.

"Answer my question!" he said impatiently.

"All right, all right!" she said, tossing her head a bit. "I'm after him, of course," she said, nodding over to Harry, who tried his best to act surprised.

"You're after the kid," the man repeated. "Why?"

"Now, you're no fun. Why ever would I want to share that? You'll just take him for yourself, you selfish boy. Does Mommy know that you boys are taking to cradle-robbing?"

Now, _this_ seemed to thoroughly piss off _both_ men, as the second guy, without even needing the glance sent to him by the first guy, started reading out of his book.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_

_omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion_

_infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_

_omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."_

Harry was almost certain that he was reading some sort of exorcism chant in Latin, considering the few words he understood were concerning 'impure spirits' and the like.

As Moose-man read, the woman started struggling, screaming "_STOP! Stop, stop, stop_, I'll tell you!" When she said that, he stopped reading.

The woman was gasping and rocking a bit, gathering her breath. "He's–" she cut off, gasping again. "He's not from here!"

"What the hell does that mean?" demanded the first guy.

When the woman didn't answer, he glanced back again at Moose-man and simply said, "Sam," and then 'Sam' was reading again.

"_Ergo draco maledicte_

_et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te."_

By now, the demon was screaming again, but it was hard to tell what it was that she was screaming, since she wasn't making much sense in her frantic rambling.

_"Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_

_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._

_Vade-"_

At this point, she screamed out, "_He's not from this world!"_

Sam cut off in the middle of his reading to ask her in disbelief, "What?"

"I said," she gasped out, "he's not from this world! He just appeared here! Out of nowhere!"

"Yeah," interrupted the first guy, "and how does that work? You saying he's some sort of alien? Like Superman? Cause he sure as hell doesn't look like a freaking alien!"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "he's… I don't know… he's human!"

"Yeah?" the man demanded angrily. "How the hell does that work? You just said he wasn't from this world!"

The woman just continued to shake her head.

After a couple of seconds where the woman continued to gasp quietly to herself, Sam continued reading in Latin.

"_Satana, inventor et magister_

_omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis._

_Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,_

_contremisce et effuge, invocato a_

_nobis sancto et terribili nomine,_

_quem inferi tremunt."_

"I don't know, I don't know!" she sobbed, and Sam stopped his reading again.

"But," she rasped, "He's powerful!"

"How do you mean?" asked Sam.

"I don't know! I tried to take him over, but," she paused, inhaling sharply, "he pushed me away!"

"What?" demanded the first guy, who still, as of yet, did not have a first name, as far as Harry knew. "He did – How is that even possible?"

"I don't know! Ask him! He's right there! He's the one who did it, not me!"

Harry decided that this demon woman was far too fond of declaring "I don't know!" because she had said it, like, ten times already. And now the two 'Winchester' guys were looking at him.

He just shrugged, which made the first guy frown.

Said guy then looked at the other man before saying, "Well, Sammy, we'll question the kid after you're done. Finish exorcising her, I guess."

With that, the woman's head whipped up. "What? You – You can't! I told you everything I know! I gave you what you wanted!"

"Not really," countered the first guy. "All you really told us was that the kid is apparently 'not from this world' and that he can push off demon possession."

"That's a lot!" the woman insisted. "You wouldn't have known that without me! He probably would have lied to you!"

Sam then graced the demon with a frown which made him appear rather like he was looking at some disgusting insect.

"Yeah, but, still, can't have you running around slicing people's necks like it's an acceptable hobby," the first guy said distastefully to the demon. "And, really, I couldn't care less," he added flippantly.

"I… I'll-"

"Sam."

"_Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine._

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_

_omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion_

_infernalis adversarii,omnis legio,_

_omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."_

The demon was screaming like she had been put under the cruciatus curse, but this didn't seem to bother Sam, who was reading straight through her screaming as if it were nothing but a pleasant breeze. Clearly, this was not the first time that he had done this.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn't help but wince as the woman continued to scream, even though he knew that she was a demon. It was terrible to hear, really, and, as horrible as it is to think, the screams made him think back to the dementors and the screams of his mother before she died, even though there was a part of Harry that yelled at himself for relating a demon to his own mother. He couldn't help it. It was a woman screaming, and his mum was the only thing that he could think about anytime he heard any woman scream. All he could picture was his mother and the flash of green light that had killed her.

_"Ergo draco maledicte_

_et omnis legio diabolica_

_adjuramus te._

_Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_

_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._

_Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire_

_te rogamus, audi nos."_

Finally, as Sam finished his chant, the same black cloud of smoke that had assaulted Harry's mind earlier came pouring out of the woman's mouth again, this time going straight up to cloud at the ceiling of the room, before it dispersed with a flash of light. Sam snapped the book closed and slumped down onto the couch.

The woman's body was left tied in the chair, collapsed with the vacancy of the demon.

The first man, who apparently shared some relation to the man named Sam, turned his attention to Harry.

"Explain," was all he said before another man appeared.

He was equally, if not more intimidating than both of the Winchesters, wearing a long tan trench coat and a blank sort of intense look on his face not often found on people.

"Dean," he said, causing the other guy to whip around.

"Damn," exclaimed 'Dean.' "You again!"

"Yes," replied Trench-coat.

Dean frowned. "What do you want now?" he asked stiffly.

"You cannot question this boy," Trench-coat said, clearly talking about Harry.

"What? Why not?" asked Dean, glaring slightly at Trench-coat.

"The Lord has put him under His protection," said Trench-coat evenly.

Harry, for what it was worth, was confused. He was pretty sure that this guy was talking about God, but, as far as he knew, God didn't even exist. If he did, why would he let people like Voldemort come to power, let Harry's parents be killed, let Sirius rot in Azkaban for twelve years? It didn't make sense to Harry, and he had decided a long time ago, in his cupboard, that if there was a God, that He certainly didn't care about Harry. Since then, Harry had been so caught up in magic and Voldemort that he hadn't given any more consideration to the topic.

"Listen, _Cas_," Dean said with clear emphasis on the name, "this kid apparently mentally fought off demon possession, and you expect me to just accept it with no questions asked?"

"Yes," replied 'Cas' bluntly, all stiff shoulders and board-like posture. Harry got the impression that this was a man who wasn't comfortable in his own body.

"Right," Dean said, clearly not up for that at all.

"Dean," Sam said, "Look, if Castiel says to leave the kid alone, then maybe we should leave him alone."

"Oh?" asked Dean with surprise and a little bit of hurt. "And since when are you and the angel all buddy-buddy?"

Sam's eyes widened as he made a placating gesture. "I'm not saying we should totally dismiss the kid, but at least consider it."

"Yeah, and why has the _Lord_ decided that he's taking in interest in this kid, huh? Now both God and the demons want him, and you want to just let him go?" asked Dean skeptically.

"I have a name, you know," Harry cut in, and then immediately regretted it, as suddenly all attention was turned toward him. "It's Harry," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well, Harry, do you know why God's suddenly all interested in you?" Dean demanded. Harry stayed silent.

"See, the kid's already acting all suspicious," he said, once again referring to Harry as 'the kid,' which was starting to annoy Harry.

"Harry Potter was using the Lord's protection when he fought off the demonic possession," Castiel, who was apparently an _angel_, said.

Dean frowned. "Yeah? And you want us to just leave him here?" he asked, clearly not fond of that particular idea.

"I did not say that," Castiel replied evenly. "I said that you should not question his abilities." He shifted closer to Dean and Sam, looking them both in the eye in alternation. "You will not leave him here," he said in a tone that left little room for argument. "You will need him for your journey," he said in a tone that was just as certain.

"Oh, so now even Cas says we will be taking the kid with us. Great," Dean said sarcastically.

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Please note that despite the fact that I know Sam did the exorcisms with his powers in season four, I used an actual reading. This is because I wanted to have them use it as a sort of interrogation method, along with simply exorcising the bitch. So, yeah.

A big thank you to all of those who faved, followed, and a HUGE thank you to those who reviewed! I love all of you guys, and you make it worth writing!

So, after my friend sends her input on the chapter, I shall post, and then I will be off to finish packing for vacation!

Remember, guys, that it is really in _YOUR_ best interest to **review**! Reviews are like fuel for my writing! The more of them I get, the more I want to write!


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, guys!

THERE WILL BE NO SLASH IN THIS STORY. - I'm sorry if any of you wanted that, but, honestly, I doubt I could write slash, and, like I said, it would never have been in this story, and the question for one-shots was not going to be connected to this story, so I am sorry if any of you guys got confused and thought that I was saying that this might become slash. I was never saying that, so those of you who are against slash in this fic, don't worry. For those of you who would like slash, remember that Harry is only fifteen and therefore underage. There are plenty of other slash crossovers out there, so I'm sure it won't hurt if my story doesn't join that count. I hope the plot makes up for those of you who wanted slash, because plot was my key intent. Thank you to all those who gave their input. I will repost this bit in the next chapter and perhaps the one after it, because I don't know if you guys will be alerted to the change that I have made to this chapter, or, rather, the author's note in this chapter. Again, thank you for your input. :)

So, you guys are lucky that I have Irish skin, because I am on vacation right now, and the only reason that I had time to write this chapter is because I had to escape the cruel sun. *cringes* If not, I would probably be on the beach right now…

Anyway, this chappy doesn't have any action, really, but I hope you still like it, because I did! It answers a lot of questions, so I hope that makes up for it.

Once again, thank you to Saiyagirl95, who read over my chapter for mistakes! You're the best friend a girl could have! ^.^

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with.

And with that, I present to you Chapter Four!

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"Oh, so now even Cas says we will be taking the kid with us. Great," Dean said sarcastically.

At this point, Harry was getting fed up with being treated like a sack of meat sitting off to the side. "Hold on," he finally said, "don't I get any say in this?"

The attention was once again focused on him. Castiel, in particular, made Harry nervous, with his creepy unwavering gaze settled on Harry.

"You will be going with the Winchesters," he said in a no-nonsense tone.

"What if I don't want to go with the Winchesters?" Harry demanded, frustrated that apparently he was not going to be given any consideration.

The man named Sam, the one with the dark aura that deeply bothered Harry, was the one who answered.

"You're going to have to come with us. Hate to say it, but, with both demons and God taking in interest in you, it's kind of our job to watch you. You've already attracted demons to you here, so you'll probably continue attracting them, and innocent people could be killed."

Harry stared at Sam in disbelief. "How have I attracted demons here? I haven't done anything!" Though the Winchesters didn't know what he meant at that point, Harry was pretty much saying that he hadn't done any magic while with Frank and Josie, so there was really nothing that he knew of that would attract the supernatural.

"You are here," said the angel guy.

"Oh," said Harry, a bit angrily, "so my just being here is attracting demons? How does that work? Can they sense me?"

"Not you," Castiel responded. "They can sense your power."

"What power?" asked Dean, who suddenly seemed to take more of an interest in Harry, as his green eyes flicked from Castiel to Harry and back.

"The power given to him by the Lord," the angel responded.

Dean frowned. "That's a crap answer. That doesn't tell me anything. Can the kid summon angels or some junk like that?"

Harry tried his best not to look offended at having magic referred to as 'junk.' The world of magic had saved him from the Dursleys, and, though they claimed to treat him the way they did due to his 'freakishness,' Harry knew that it had been a personal choice that he be treated the way that he was as a child. Hogwarts had become his home, and, to him, embodied magic, so to have his powers, his magic, insulted was like insulting Hogwarts and everything he loved.

"You can summon angels," Castiel replied.

Dean's frown returned. "That's bullshit. You just show up whenever you feel like it."

"I show up when I can, when I am needed," the angel countered.

"Whatever," Dean dismissed. "That's not 'summoning angels'…"

"Are his powers like mine?" Sam asked, finally adding into the conversation.

Castiel's icy blue eyes turned to Sam's. "His powers are pure," he said swiftly.

Sam gained a saddened/offended look at that comment, and it made Harry wonder what 'powers' they were talking about now. He knew that it had to do with the dark aura ebbing out of the man, since Castiel had said that the powers were impure, and that aura was impure if ever there were one besides that of Voldemort. Still, that didn't tell him what _kind_ of powers they were talking about.

"Well, the demon said that he could keep it from possessing him, and I could have exorcised her if I had wanted to. They both have to do with demons, it seems, so, if he's got 'pure' powers, where did he get them? I got mine from a demon, so did he get his from an angel?"

Well, that answered that. At least, part of it. Harry wasn't sure if that was all Sam could do, considering they seemed to focus on his ability to at least moderately shield his mind, like they didn't even want to contemplate that he might be able to do more than that, though Dean seemed mightily interested in his powers in general, no matter what they actually were. This made Harry wonder if they even had a wizarding community in this world. Since the ambient magic that he could feel in the air was different from the feeling he had had back on his home world, a feeling he hadn't even known had been there until he could no longer feel it, he was going to take a guess and say that there was magic, but that it probably existed in some form that was more convoluted than the magic in his own world.

His inner musings were interrupted by Castiel, who answered Sam's question.

"He, like all of the others like him, got his powers from the Lord," he said blankly.

Harry frowned. "Wait, you're saying that God gave Voldemort his powers? What the heck was he thinking when he did that?"

Castiel turned his attention from Sam to Harry, ignoring Dean's question of "Who's Voldy-mort?"

"The man you know as Voldemort in your world was innocent when he was born. He strayed from the Lord's path, driven by a hatred of those at the orphanage where he was raised, sought revenge for what he saw as a wrongdoing, and he took it upon himself to 'correct' that wrong, to kill off all those who are not like him."

Harry was looking at the angel with wide eyes. He couldn't really picture Voldemort as anything other than the heartless bastard that he was in Harry's present. Hell, if the man's teenage self was willing to kill off students at the same school as him, he didn't seem like he could have ever been innocent. Like, at all.

"Okay," Harry said, dragging the last syllable out to show that he wasn't quite believing that.

"Why do you talk like a British person?" Dean suddenly asked.

Harry frowned a bit at him, before retorting, "Why do you talk like an American person?"

Dean scowled before exclaiming, "Because I'm from America!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Dean, as he could see Dean's eyes light up a bit in realization.

"But the demon bitch said you were from another world! You can't be from Britain!" he said, confused.

At this point, Castiel decided to speak up. "He is not from another world, per say. He is from Earth. He is simply from an alternate dimension to the one in which you reside."

Sam seemed to follow this statement better than Dean did, asking, "He's from an alternate Earth? I thought that was just one of those crazy theories…"

"Wait," Dean said, beginning to understand, "You're saying that there are, like, multiple Earths out there?"

"Yes," Castiel replied shortly.

"And God is still the same God as the one of this Earth?"

"Of course," Castiel confirmed. "The Lord is the Lord," he said, as if that made everything clear.

Dean was contemplating that. "How many different Earths are there?" He asked, looking back at Castiel.

"There are infinite Earths, all branching out of one central timeline, coexisting in God's domain, under His control."

Dean's eyes were wide. He was impressed. "Damn, he must have no free time."

"That is why He has angels. We deal with smaller problems that He does not have the time to deal with."

"Wait," said Harry, suddenly thinking of something, "Was that God, in the Dimensional Void?"

"No. That was another angel, one assigned to dimensional conflict."

"What are you assigned to?" Harry asked.

"In am currently assigned to the Winchesters," Castiel replied. "I watch them."

"Dude, that's creepy," Dean quipped, ruining the intense tone the conversation had taken. "Don't – just don't say that. You sound like a pervert or a babysitter."

"I do watch you."

"Yeah, but… nevermind," Dean said, giving in. Castiel didn't seem to understand things like that.

"So…" Harry asked, trailing off as he watched Dean stare at Castiel. "Are the Winchesters really important?"

All three men turned their attention to Harry.

"The Winchesters are needed. The Apocalypse is coming."

Cue the widening of eyes. "Whaaat?" Harry asked. Here he was thinking that he would get a break. Granted, the demon had screwed that up, but it still wasn't a freaking apocalypse!

"Dean will explain to you," Castiel said, just before he disappeared into thin air. Harry wished he had learned how to apparate before he had dived headfirst into the mysterious veil. Not very wise on his part, upon reflection.

"What? Why do I have to explain?" demanded Dean, despite the fact that the angel was clearly gone.

Sam shrugged, but he had a strange little grin on his face as he did so.

"Well, screw that!" Dean declared dramatically. "We're leaving!"

"Uh, where are we going?" Sam asked, looking at Dean with arched brows.

"I don't know," Dean said. "Bobby's place, I guess. He can help us figure out what to do with the kid."

Harry sighed. "Like I already said, my name is Harry," he repeated with creeping frustration.

"Yeah, kid, I heard you."

Harry wanted to face-palm.

"Well, Harry," Sam said, and Harry could have hugged him for not calling him "kid." However, he certainly wasn't going to, considering the still-dark aura that continued to seep out of him. Not a good sign, and Harry wasn't really a touchy person anyway. The Dursleys had made sure of that.

"You might want to go grab your stuff," he continued, and Harry shrugged and quickly went to grab his brown bag.

When he returned, Dean wrinkled his nose. "That has got to be the ugliest bag I have ever seen."

Sam elbowed him, and Dean simply said, "What? It is. It's uglier than Dad's bag, and that's saying something."

"Anyway, kid, just hold on a sec. We gotta clean this place up a bit. Authorities get all suspicious when you leave Devil's traps written all over the floor at murder scenes."

"I can't imagine why," Harry said sarcastically.

Dean ignored him, and both he and Sam set to work cleaning up the chalk and putting the furniture back into place.

"Okay," Dean announced, smacking his hands together to get off some of the remaining chalk. With that, he strolled out of the front door. Sam waited for Harry to follow Dean before taking up the rear and closing the front door behind him. They had left the dead body of the demon there, to let the police draw their own conclusions. It was sad that the woman might be blamed for the murder of the two older folks, but there wasn't really anything more that Sam and Dean could do, not now that they had Harry with them. They needed to take care of his whole situation first and foremost.

Harry didn't know much about cars, but he knew that the one Dean was walking over to was a nice one. Classic and nice. That was something Uncle Vernon had always wanted to have but inevitably failed at achieving every time he bought a classic car, out of lack of effort. Honestly, the man didn't seem to grasp that hard work had to be done to maintain _anything_, much less a classic car. Harry didn't know how the Dursleys managed without him to do their chores during the school year.

As Dean unlocked his car, Harry could see the fondness in his eyes, which was rather odd to see when not aimed toward another person. However, he wasn't about to comment on it.

Both Dean and Sam deposited their guns into the trunk of the car, which Harry was not really surprised to see was completely loaded with guns, books, crosses, rope, knives, chalk, stakes, a tub of what looked to be water, and, oddly enough, a bunch of cylindrical cases of salt. He decided that he would ask about that later.

After closing the trunk, Dean got into the driver's seat, and Sam pulled shotgun, leaving Harry to get into the back of the car. Idly looking around, Harry noticed a lot of books of maps. One was sitting open with Chariton, Iowa, circled in red marker. Clearly, that was from them heading over to investigate the demon.

The car was silent as they pulled away from the house. It was night already, so the streets were relatively car-free.

"So," Harry said, breaking the silence, "How are you guys related? Cousins, brothers, or what?" Harry was absolutely certain that they weren't father and son, unless one of them was seriously young when they had a kid.

Sam was the one who answered. "Brothers," he said, turning to look back at Harry.

"Um, how did you get into fighting demons?" Harry asked, trying to start up some small talk, though he actually was curious.

Sam got a strange look on his face, one that Harry thought was probably similar to the one he adopted whenever he was thinking about Voldemort.

"It's a long story," he said with a sigh, focusing on one of his map books, even though he knew how to get to Bobby's place once they hit the main highways. Both he and Dean knew most of the major highways after all of their cross-country travelling. It was all of the little subdivisions and all of those other streets for which they needed the maps.

"It's also one we don't trust you enough to tell," Dean said bluntly, and Harry was offended, but only because of the tone Dean used as he said that. Harry had nothing against them keeping things to themselves. In fact, he was all for it, as he was generally the same when it came to his story if he could manage it.

"So, this Voldy-mort guy was a big murderer in your world?" Dean asked, quick to change the topic. Anything to steer the topic off of their family and life. Honestly, he was curious about the kid's life. What made him so special that both the upstairs and downstairs were after him?

"I'm pretty sure it's Vol-de-mort, right?" Sam asked, enunciating clearly for Dean.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding.

"It's French for 'Flight of Death,' I think," Sam continued, and Dean frowned.

"You know _French_?" he asked, surprised yet not surprised at his brother's knowledge of yet another topic.

"Very little, only stuff that could be related to the supernatural, really, and both 'flight' and 'death' fit under that category," Sam responded. He shrugged. "You never know when it could come in handy," he said. "I also know a bit of German and Spanish."

Dean kept glancing at Sam, though not too often, as he_ was_ driving, giving him a weird look that seemed to say, 'Why the hell would you bother?'

"Anyway…" Dean trailed off, urging him back to the earlier topic of conversation.

Harry answered Dean's earlier question. "Yeah, he's a murderer," he said, looking at Dean through the rearview mirror. "He is a complete blood purist, and he kills those who don't agree with him. My parents were big on opposing him and were in the front lines for fighting him, so he came and killed them."

Harry wasn't going to tell them about how Voldemort had also tried to kill him. They didn't need to know that, and he didn't want them to know about it just yet. He was tired of being the Boy Who Lived, and no one knew about that here, so he was going to keep it like that for as long as he could.

"He sounds like Hitler," Sam said after thinking about what Harry had said.

Harry frowned. He hadn't thought about that, and he didn't know much about Hitler from primary school, but, from what he did know, Voldemort _did _act a lot like him. Strange.

"Yeah, I guess he does," Harry agreed.

"…"

"So, who's Bobby?" Harry asked, interrupting the odd silence that followed his last statement.

"He's an old family friend," Dean said, not bothering to explain further.

"Are there demons all over the world, or just in America?" Were there demons in America in his world, or did they stick to alternate universes like this one, where he was pretty sure there wasn't the same magic as in his world? Maybe demons and angels _were_ this world's version of magic.

Sam gave him a weird look. "Why would there only be demons in America?" he asked, clearly not drawing Harry's same line of thought.

"There weren't demons in my Britain, but I've never been to my America, so there could have been there. If there were any in Britain, I would know about it, though, or, at least, Hermione, the smartest girl of our class and one of my best friends, would know. She reads so many books and knows so much that it's ridiculous."

"Sounds like Sam," Dean said with a small smile, one of the first that Harry had seen.

Sam scowled before saying, "There's demons all over the world, and there's hunters all over the world, too. Wherever the supernatural are, you can bet that there are hunters."

"So that's what you guys are? Hunters?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed, even though Harry's question had kind of been rhetorical.

"So, what other supernatural stuff do you hunt? Besides demons, I mean?"

"Whatever's out there. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, revenants, witches, and anything else you can think of," Sam replied.

Harry, however, had frozen when he heard the word "witches." They couldn't, could they? No. They couldn't. Not innocent people.

Then again, thinking about it, Sam didn't seem to care when that demon had been screaming in agony. Were they like that with all that they hunted? Heartless and ruthless, straight for the kill? Harry didn't want to believe it, but he didn't really know these men. At all. For all he knew, they couldn't care less if what they were 'hunting' was innocent or not. The optimistic side of Harry told him that if they had an _angel_ on their side, they can't be that bad, but then the other side pointed out that the angel had said that he was 'watching them.' Maybe that was why he needed to watch them.

Another part of him said that since the magic was so weird on this world, there was a high chance that the witches and wizards were different here, too. He hoped not, because he would miss the wizarding world, but for the sake of the faith that he wanted to put in Sam and Dean, he hoped they _were_ different.

However, Harry could only speculate so much. He would figure it out eventually. And probably sooner rather than later.

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So, did you guys like it? Huh, huh?

I would like to ask you to please review. We are almost at the 100 review mark, guys, and I ABSOLUTELY ADORE REVIEWS! Honestly, they make my day, and then I get into the mood to write more. They inspire me, especially long reviews. So, if you could spare a moment, if only to say just one word, I won't even care if it is just you popping in to demand an update, though I would prefer you be nice about it. ^.^

Thank you to all of those who put this fic on their favourites list or who are now following this story! I love you guys, and, sappy as it is, it makes me immensely happy to know that there are people out there actually reading and enjoying my work. And a big thank you to those who reviewed, as you, by now, surely know how much I love reviews.

And, with that, I'm out, probably to start on chapter five, since I'm still kind of in the mood to write. Have a lovely day. ^.^


	5. Chapter 5

Hey, guys!

So, it's been a week. Not too bad, yeah? Definitely better than a month, like it took for chapter three. Like I said, I will try to update within a week, but I make no promises.

**_THERE WILL BE NO SLASH IN THIS STORY._** - I'm sorry if any of you wanted that, but, honestly, I doubt I could write slash, and, like I said, **_it would never have been in this story_**, and the question for **_one-shots_** was not going to be connected to this story, so I am sorry if any of you guys got confused and thought that I was saying that this might become slash. I was never saying that, so those of you who are against slash in this fic, don't worry. For those of you who would like slash, remember that Harry is only fifteen and therefore underage. There are plenty of other slash crossovers out there, so I'm sure it won't hurt if my story doesn't join that count. I hope the plot makes up for those of you who wanted slash, because plot was my key intent. Thank you to all those who gave their input. I will repost this bit in the next chapter.** Again, thank you for your input.** :)

A big thank you to those out there that saw fit to inform me that Harry was a bit too trusting of Sam and Dean. It's been years since I've read the actual Harry Potter books, so this is probably the reason that he is out of character a bit. I've been reading far too many fanfics. What can I say? There's just so many awesome fics out there to read! Also, I was raised with the belief that I could tell my parents anything, so I, personally, am very trusting to adults, and I tend to forget that sometimes others are not. I tried to have him keep his information to a minimal, which is why he was so vague about Voldemort, rather than breaking out the life story. Anyway, I hope I didn't mess that up this chapter, but tell me if I did, yeah?

Once again, thank you to Saiyagirl95, who read over my chapter for mistakes! You're the best friend a girl could have! ^.^

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. I also do not own AC/DC or Google. If I owned any of these things, I would be rich, which I, as a seventeen year old, am certainly not.

So, with that, I happily give you Chapter Five!

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After Sam's explanation, the car was once again silent, until Dean turned on the radio, which started blasting out AC/DC. Dean wasn't shy enough to care if Harry heard him and began singing immediately.

Sam turned in his seat to give Harry a pitying look. He was used to his brother's obnoxiously loud music and singing, but Harry wasn't, and he pitied Harry for that. However, he knew that, depending on how long Harry stayed with them, he would get used to it, since Dean did it nearly any time people weren't talking and they were in the Impala on the open road.

The drive from Chariton, Iowa, to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, took about six hours, taking I-80 W and I-29 N, including bathroom breaks. At the gas station, Harry's stomach had betrayed him when he saw the food, and it grumbled loudly. Sam, who wasn't filling up the car with petrol (gas) at the time, heard and offered to buy Harry a snack.

"You can have something," he had said, "just don't ask for a ton of stuff. We'll be at Bobby's pretty soon, and we're not exactly loaded on cash."

Harry once again felt bad taking any money from anyone. To be sure, when Sam wasn't looking, he shrugged off his backpack and reached a hand in, thinking, '_I need some money._'

When he pulled his hand out, it was full of shiny galleons. Money, but not the kind he wanted, so he put it back into the bag, this time thinking about American muggle money. He glanced at a bag of crisps (chips), labeled at $3.75, and thought that amount. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding three fresh American dollars and three quarters.

….

In an alternate universe, where the Ministry of Magic was frantically searching for the Wizarding world's Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, in the Potter Family Vault of Gringotts Bank, thirteen sickles and seven knuts – which, when converted to American dollars, was equal to roughly three dollars and seventy-five cents – vanished from the count of shining wizard money without the knowledge of even the goblins in charge of the bank. After all, their vaults were impenetrable by magic, right?

….

Harry told Sam that he could pay, happy that the two men wouldn't have to be paying for him, and went up to the cash register to purchase his crisps. When he was done, he headed back out to the Impala, where Dean declared, "Took you long enough. What, were you shitting an elephant or something?"

Harry just ignored Dean's comment. He was coming to expect weird phrases from Dean, even though he hadn't known him long. He pulled open the bag and popped a cheddar flavored crisp into his mouth and settled as much as he could into the still-rather-foreign backseat.

….

When they finally arrived at Singer Salvage Yard, Harry looked around in wonder. He had never been to a salvage yard, and he had never seen so many old cars and parts together before. He briefly thought that Arthur Weasley would be in heaven here, as there were so many muggle cars for him to fiddle with.

Harry was just turning his attention to the house when a man pushed open the front door. He was older than Sam and Dean, and he looked to be in his fifties or possibly his sixties. He was dressed in faded jeans, what looked like hiker's boots, and was wearing a plaid shirt open over a faded tan shirt, and he had a weathered green ball cap on his head.

His eyes locked onto Dean's, as Dean was the closest to him, and the older man started to say something before his eyes shifted to land on Harry.

"You brought a kid with you?" he asked Dean with a raised eyebrow.

"Cas made us bring him," Dean said, walking up the porch steps past the older man and going into the house without an invite. It was clear to Harry that both Sam and Dean were comfortable here, like it was their own home.

"So you just brought him 'cause the angel told you to?" Bobby asked, turning back to look at Dean, who returned to the door with a bottle of beer.

"What were we supposed to do? Ignore Cas?" Dean asked, clearly used to being questioned.

"He can push off demon possession," Sam explained, and Bobby's eyebrows rose again.

"You boys did all the checks?" he asked, always having to be sure.

"Yeah," Dean replied, taking a swig of his beer and wiping his lips on his sleeve unconsciously. "Holy water," he explained.

'_Oh,_' Harry thought. '_So that's what they splashed all over me and the demon._' It made sense, he supposed, when you thought about it.

Bobby, however, frowned. "_Cristo,_" he said clearly, and Harry stared at him questioningly.

"Just had to make sure," he explained to Sam and Dean, who nodded, clearly expecting something of the sort. Harry simply took it as another test, like the holy water, and shrugged it off.

Sam, like Dean before him, headed up to the house, nodding Harry along, as Harry didn't want to just go into the guy's house when he didn't know him and hadn't been invited. Harry trailed after him, looking around what he could see of the house when he was inside.

The living room area was furnished in chairs that were clearly worn from a lot of use, and there were books nearly _everywhere. _Despite the clutter, however, it was homey. One thing Harry noticed that was odd while he was looking, however, was that the windows of the room were lined with what looked like salt or sugar or something similar. Judging from the cans of salt in the brothers' Impala, however, Harry was going to go on a limb and say that it was probably salt. The books, he noticed, all seemed to have something to do with the supernatural.

"Apparently he's from an _alternate universe_," Dean said, emphasizing the last two words like he still couldn't believe it.

Now, Bobby Singer had handled a lot in his years, but he had not expected _that_. He nearly choked on his beer, which he had retrieved upon entering the house, also handing one to Sam.

_"He's from what?"_ he coughed out, not believing his ears.

Sam nodded. "That's what I thought. I haven't heard or read anything about alternate universes in any of my studies," he said, glancing at Harry. "I'm guessing you haven't heard or read anything, either?" he asked Bobby, nodding to the number of books stacked up all around the room.

"Of course not," Bobby replied once he had stopped coughing. "Beside all that Sci-Fi crap you hear about, but that ain't anything worth listening to," he continued.

"Well, I guess we'd better start listening, since apparently other worlds _do_ exist," Dean said with a bit of frustration, only because he had held some little hope that Bobby would be able to explain something about what was going on, the things that Castiel hadn't explained. Bobby usually had dirt and info on _everything_, and Dean was disappointed, not particularly in Bobby, but that he couldn't get any more explanations.

"First angels and now _this_," he said, looking pointedly at Harry. "Next we're gonna find out that aliens and unicorns exist."

Harry decided not to mention that he knew for a fact that unicorns _did_ exist, at least in his world.

"So, kid," Bobby said, and Harry had to sigh at being referred to as 'kid' by another person. It was almost as bad as 'boy,' which was Uncle Vernon's favorite name for him when he wasn't employing the use of the word 'freak.' "What's your name?"

Well, Harry had to think, maybe Bobby wasn't so bad.

"It's Harry Potter, sir."

Bobby looked at Dean. "He called me 'sir.' He sure seems a hell of a lot more polite than you ever were as a kid."

Harry grinned while Dean scowled. "I was polite," he grumbled.

Bobby turned to Harry. "So, you're really from an alternate world?" He had an eyebrow raised, giving Harry what Sam and Dean knew was a distinctly _Bobby _look.

"Um, yeah," Harry confirmed, rather sheepishly. He had no idea why, but this man reminded him a little of Dumbledore. It wasn't like the two looked or even acted even remotely the same, but they both seemed to give off a serious-while-still-caring aura. With Bobby, that aura seemed to come out whenever he was directing his attention to either Sam or Dean. However, his attitude and speech pattern, otherwise, seemed very similar to that of Moody, when it came to the whole "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" thing, which Bobby seemed to also follow.

"So you're telling me," he said, looking at both Sam and Dean, "that you went off following one of _my _leads, and you ended up with a kid who can apparently fight off demons with his _mind_ and who came from another universe?"

Dean and Sam both nodded their heads. "Pretty much," Dean said.

Bobby just shook his head and sighed. "You _idjits._" He took a gulp of his beer. "You boys get into more weird crap than a soap opera, I swear."

Dean was staring at Bobby. "You watch _soap opears_?"

Bobby gave Dean a 'what-the-hell' look before saying, "No, you dumbass. Do I look like I watch soap operas?"

Dean held up his arms in surrender. "Dude, you're the one who said it, not me."

Bobby went into the kitchen, grumbling to himself.

"Since you idjits are here, and I've been so busy lookin' up crap for you two chuckleheads that I forgot dinner, you can go get me something to eat."

"I can always make something, Bobby, if you're that hungry?"

"No, I'm not that hungry. Just go pick up a pie or something," he said, looking specifically at Dean.

Dean lit up like a Christmas tree. "Pie?"

"Yeah, pie. Go get us some."

Dean frowned. "You can have your pie, but I'm getting my own pie. What about the kid?" he turned to Harry. "You want pie? You can't have any of mine."

Harry just shook his head, honestly kind of bothered by just how excited and possessive Dean seemed to get at the prospect of pie.

After that, Dean was quick to leave. After all, this was pie they were talking about. That left Sam and Bobby standing in the kitchen with Harry, in a very awkward silence.

Bobby was the one to break it. "Kid," he said, and Harry wondered why the guy had even bothered to ask his name if he was just going to follow Dean's lead and call him 'kid' anyway. "There's a red book on the fourth shelf of the bookcase against the wall, to the left of the first window. Go see if you can find any mention of alternate universes."

Harry stared at him. In response he got a significant look from Bobby and a shrug from Sam. He realized that Bobby probably wanted to talk to Sam alone or something, and he decided that it wasn't like he had anything else to do, so he went and found the book. It was called, _"Theories on the After."_

He looked through the table of contents, and it seemed to have a lot of theories on things Harry had never even heard of. One chapter was called "Ring Worlds," which caught Harry's attention simply because it mentioned worlds. He flipped over to the first page of that chapter and began to scan his eyes along the page, but he wasn't reading. He had answered some of Dean's question, but they hadn't given him any information. So he was going to listen and find out what he could himself. Sure enough, as soon as his eyes began to scan the page, the two in the kitchen began to talk in hushed tones. Harry couldn't risk any magic to listen to them, since Bobby seemed to be watching him. Harry didn't know how often the man's attention was on him, because he wasn't stupid enough to keep glancing up to look when he was supposed to be 'reading,' but he could practically feel the man's eyes on him. He ignored it. He had to strain his hearing to pick out parts of what they were saying.

Back in the kitchen, Sam had turned to Bobby. "You didn't actually want Harry to research, did you? You already said that you hadn't read anything. So what is it you want to talk about?"

Bobby was half watching Harry, alternating his attention from Harry to Sam. "Of course not. I can keep an eye on the kid from here, though." He took a deep breath and said quietly, "Sam, I know you told Dean that you've been training your powers."

Sam nodded.

"I don't completely believe you. Whatever cock and bull you told Dean ain't gonna work on me. You're different. Dean may be too glad to be back from Hell to see it, or maybe he's just being purposefully ignorant, but I know for fact that demons can't ever be trusted. I also know that things like this don't ever just get handed to you."

"Bobby, I-"

"I don't wanna hear it. What you do is your own decision, and I ain't your Daddy, but I still see you boys as family. I just want you to know that Dean still trusts you. He believes in you, and when he finds out whatever it is that you've been hiding from him, he's gonna be crushed. That'll be your fault. Don't keep things from your family, son. It's the only thing you got to rely on, and if you ain't got that, I don't know what you have. Whatever it is that you are doing for those powers of yours, it ain't good, and I can feel it. You'd better tell Dean yourself before he wises up and gets his head out of his ass enough to realize it, too."

Sam just stood there in silence.

"Now, I'm gonna get the kid," Bobby said. "He hasn't looked up since we started talking, and I'm pretty sure he was listening in."

Harry inwardly cursed himself. Honestly, he just needed to see if he had his invisibility cloak in his bag and, if it was there, use it to listen in on them at a better moment. However, he wasn't going to react, because, if he did, that would just confirm Bobby's suspicions that he had been listening in, so he flipped another page and started reading from there.

"You find anything?" Bobby asked, coming up behind him and reading over his shoulder.

"Nothing besides ring worlds," Harry answered.

Bobby frowned. "That's got to be the only science-based section in that book, and it's all speculation, anyway. Why would you choose that?"

"Because it mentioned worlds, and you said to look for alternate worlds."

'_Huh,_' Bobby thought. '_Maybe the kid actually was reading._'

Harry inwardly applauded himself for not just picking a random page.

After that, they made small talk about things that really held no relevance to anything, until Dean came back. He had three pie boxes in a bag, and he set it on the table.

"I bring you," he declared dramatically, "pie! Feel free to thank me any time."

"Why?" Bobby asked. "It ain't like you cooked 'em yourself."

Dean just frowned at him, taking the top box out of the bag, pushing the bag over to Bobby and Sam. Sam reached into the bag, handing one pie to Bobby.

Harry looked at the pies. They looked good, but he wasn't hungry.

"You want some of mine?" Sam asked him, and Dean looked at his brother like he had just offered up his firstborn child, and then he pulled his pie even closer to himself.

Harry just shook his head, and Sam shrugged before biting into a piece.

"How long you boys staying for?" Bobby asked, looking between Sam and Dean.

"However long it takes to decide what to do with him," Dean answered through his pie, nodding over to Harry, who was looking around the kitchen with interest with a look of thought on his face. When both Bobby's and Sam's eyes were on him, he glanced back at them before continuing looking around.

"So, what? Where am I supposed to put him?"

"Sammy and I can share our old room, and he can sleep in Dad's room."

Harry frowned as he focused his attention back onto the three men. "I can just sleep on the couch." He had, after all, slept on far worse. He didn't know how much he would be sleeping, that night, anyway. There was the ever-growing guilt of the Millerton's death weighing on his mind. It had been his fault, for simply being there. _Just like with Cedric_. People around him seemed to die, just because he was there. He was a danger to anyone around him. What if Sam and Dean, or even Bobby ended up hurt because of him? They looked like they could handle themselves, but the worry was still nagging at him, and the weight of Josie's and Frank's deaths would certainly be coming back to haunt him later that night, if the nightmares over Cedric's death were any indication.

He was pulled out of his heavy thoughts by Bobby's immediate dismissal of his offer. "Nonsense, kid. If we've got the space, you might as well sleep on a bed," Bobby said with a shrug of ease.

Harry was silent. Then, Sam went to go get something. A minute later he returned with his laptop. Harry watched him with interest. He had heard about laptops from Dudley, of course, since he had been begging Aunt Petunia to get one for him since they went out on the open market, but she had simply told him that his desktop computer would work fine, and that she had just bought him a slew of new games, but that maybe, if he was good, he could get one next Christmas, which, of course, sent Dudley into a barrage of whining. However, they were really expensive. And Harry knew that the laptops of this world had advanced, at least in style, a lot. The laptops Dudley had been going on about with Aunt Petunia had been considerably bulkier than the one Sam was using. Harry wasn't sure about the mechanics, since Dudley wouldn't even allow Harry near his computer, and there certainly weren't any computers at Hogwarts.

Sam raised an eyebrow as he noticed Harry looking at his laptop with a strange expression on his face, especially since he had looked seriously sad just a moment before, which had kind of been bothering Sam, which was why he had gone to retrieve his laptop in the first place. The teenager hadn't looked like he was going to be up for any conversation anytime soon, and Sam had his suspicions about what was going on inside the kid's mind, considering the recent deaths of Frank and Josie Millerton.

"What?" he asked carefully.

Harry continued looking at the laptop. "Does it work like a normal computer?"

Sam had to stare at Harry, then.

"What?"

"Does it work like a normal computer? Your laptop?" the younger boy repeated.

Sam gave him a funny look, and both Bobby and Dean were also looking at Harry questioningly.

"I mean, yeah," Sam said with a frown. "It works like most laptops. It doesn't have the greatest processor, but it works for my research."

"You do a lot of research on there?" Harry asked with interest. He was getting an idea.

Sam frowned again. "Uh, yeah. I mean, just searches for stuff, for anything supernatural, you know?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "So, you can look up people on there?"

Sam nodded slowly, with an expression of question on his face. The kid really didn't seem to know that much about computers. Sam had to wonder why that was, and he decided he would ask about it later, since right now he was more interested in why Harry's face had suddenly lit up.

"Could you look up some people for me?" Harry asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Why? Who do want to look up?"

"Just some friends from back home," Harry explained. "I was wondering if they even exist in this world. I kind of miss them."

Sam nodded. That was understandable.

"Just let me exit this tab," he said agreeably. He wasn't finding much, anyway, and maybe they could find some more out about the kid.

"What are their names?" he asked, pulling up Google for a general search, first. If he couldn't find anything on there, he could try more extensive searches, but he wasn't going to resort to that unless it was needed.

Harry thought for a bit. Right now, the there were five big people he wanted to look for. The first was Sirius, either to look for him, in case this was the world he had ended up on, or to find out if he had a counterpart in this world. The second and third were his parents. Could they be alive in this world? Was there even a Voldemort here? He hoped not. And last but not least were Ron and Hermione, who he was starting to miss more and more the longer he stayed on this world.

Sam, however, before even hearing the names and without a clue as to why, began to get a creeping suspicion that these searches weren't going to turn out as well as Harry seemed to hope they would.

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Woo, a bit of foreshadowing for next chapter, there… So, for the Bobby fans out there, I hope I did him justice! Tell me what you think!

And, just to get this straight, Harry lunged into the veil after Sirius in June, 1996 (the year I was born! Woo!) and landed in Supernatural's world in late September, 2008. Yes, there were laptops in 1996. They were just bulky, like I said, and very slow compared to now, but laptops have been out since the mid 1980's. We have a laptop that is about 14 years old, and it works pretty smoothly, since every time it dies, my dad fixes it and replaces the parts that stop working properly. He is a computer programmer, so we have a ton of computer stuff, along with a ton of video game stuff. I also looked it up just to be sure, so no worries there.

So, I am probably going to reread the fifth book, to get Harry back into character. This may push back my update, or it may not. Who knows? I certainly don't.

Thank you to all who have faved, followed, or reviewed this fanfiction! I love you guys, and you encourage me to keep writing! Honestly, I did not expect to have more than 500 people following this, 250 people who have faved it, and over 160 reviews by only the fourth chapter! You guys are awesome! Keep it up, please. ^.^

So, there's that nice option of reviewing… it would make this author very happy if you were to drop off a little comment about this or that. It lets me know what you guys like or don't like. Thanks, and see you all for next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, guys!

…So, about rereading the fifth book. I, uh, didn't do it yet. I do intend to get to it. I just kept pushing it off. This is how addicted to fanfiction I am. I was just like, "but this fanfiction I am reading is sooo goooood!"

On other matters, I got called homophobic in a review, which I found hilarious. Honestly, considering the hundreds of slash fanfics on my favourites list that I have loved reading, I'm pretty sure that I am not afraid of homosexuals or their activities. I just am not going to write it in my story. It's not even that it is slash. I'm not really going to be doing any romance, here. I suck at romance, and I want to focus on the plot. So, yeah. This will NOT be slash!

Does that review even count as a flame? I don't think so, since all they did was call me homophobic, which is about the lamest accusation anyone could ever throw at me. But, whatever. Haters gon' hate. I'm not about to stop writing over one review. Thank you to everyone else for your support. I will take constructive criticism and cheering, but I generally ignore or laugh at hate mail. So, there you have it.

Once again, thank you to Saiyagirl95, who read over my chapter for mistakes! You're the best friend a girl could have! ^.^

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. I also do not own Google.

So, with that, I happily give you Chapter Six! I hope you like it! Sorry for the long Author's Notes. Also, check the last paragraph at the bottom of the closing Author's Note for my question to you guys. :)

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Last chapter: After arriving at Bobby's salvage yard, Harry is introduced to Bobby, who knows nothing of alternate universes. Bobby, however, is worried about Sam, because he knows that Sam is hiding the downside (which, according to Bobby, there must be one) to his powers from Dean. Sam's laptop is brought out, which piques Harry's interest and sparks the idea of possibly finding his friends on this universe, but Sam has his suspicions that the search isn't going to turn out as well as Harry seems to think it will.

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Harry yawned. He couldn't help it. He was tired, and the clock on the range said that it was about a quarter till twelve.

Unfortunately, Sam noticed and was quick to jump on it.

"Are you tired?" He asked with a frown.

Now, Harry didn't want Sam to push on it, but he knew that he probably looked tired. He hadn't slept any in the car ride there. How could he? He was riding with people he didn't even really know, and he just saw the two people who he had stayed with for the past five days killed over him. Actually, for no reason. The demon really didn't seem like she had needed to kill Josie or Frank to get to him. She could have just knocked them out. Why was it that, with him, it was never that someone was just knocked out? Why did someone always have to die?

Harry wasn't going to deny being tired when it was obvious that he was, so he just nodded reluctantly.

"You could go to bed, and I could give you the results of the search in the morning," Sam offered. "Just give me the names."

Harry, however, was not up for that at all. He shook his head furiously. "No. No, I want to see the results." He was starting to like Sam and Dean, despite their strange attitudes, but he by no means trusted them yet. He wasn't about to let them go research the people he most cared about without him there to see what it was they were getting into. No.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, looking genuinely concerned.

Dean was looking at his brother rather funnily, Harry noticed, like he was surprised yet not surprised at the same time. It made for an interesting face. Harry noted it before looking back to Sam, nodding his head once more.

"How would you recognise them if you found them, anyway?" Harry asked, looking at Sam questioningly.

"We, ah… good point," Sam said with furrowed brows. Clearly, he had not considered that.

He opened up Google and asked Harry, "What's the first name you want to look up?"

"Sirius Black," Harry answered, before he leaned closer to get a better look at the screen.

Dean, across the table, nearly spit his drink out as he started laughing. Harry stared at him. "You gotta be shitting me," Dean said through his laughs. "What kind of person names their kid 'Serious'?"

Sam had looked at Harry questioningly rather than typing.

Harry frowned in indignation. "It's Sirius. S – I – R – I – U – S," he spelled out. "He's my godfather, and he could have landed on this world, too, so don't make fun of him. He is a great man. You don't even know him."

"Okay, okay, sorry I insulted him," Dean placated. Geez, the kid had flipped over one little joke. Either Harry was a real grump when he was tired, or this Sirius guy was _really_ important to Harry.

Sam had typed the name into Google, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see the results.

**-Showing results for ****_Serious _****Black****-**

-Search instead for Sirius Black-

Both of the underlined parts were blue. Harry frowned. However, Sam just clicked on the second blue underlined listing for the search option, and it got rid of the little thing, and it actually searched for "Sirius Black," as Harry had wanted.

However, luck did not seem to be with them. Multiple websites were listed, even some that still used "serious." One was called "Seriously Black," and Harry didn't even want to know what that one was. There was another one with the same title, except spelled different, "Siriusly Black."

There were many results having to do with stars, mainly the dog star Sirius, and Harry had to muse at the irony of it being _the dog star_, considering his godfather. Somebody upstairs was laughing.

There were no results for a Sirius Black, much less the one Harry was looking for. There were apparently a lot of Blacks out there, and many of them were listed, but none of them were Sirius.

Dean had wondered over to their side of the table, and he looked at the screen. "What's all this about stars? Was the guy named after a star?"

Harry shrugged. Considering the names of the rest of the members of the house of Black, the answer was most probably yes, but it didn't matter.

"What?" Dean asked. "But that's so freaking cheesy! At least tell me he uses it for pick-up lines?"

'_Probably,_' Harry thought to himself. In fact, he wouldn't doubt it. Sirius would be one to use cheesy pick up lines about how he was a star.

"We're not finding anything about him," Sam said to Harry, changing the tone of the conversation and the general atmosphere in the kitchen, and even Bobby looked somewhat sobered, even though he had opted to not join the little laptop-search-party-huddle that the other three had joined into. Sam's words, then, sent Harry into the crashing realization that, no, Sirius wasn't there, at least not that they could find on this "Google."

And Sam had to say it. He had to, because Harry would not have acknowledged it otherwise. He would have kept searching with determination, until hours had passed, and Sam knew that they weren't going to find it. So, he told Harry, and he had to inwardly flinch as the realization fell onto Harry, and the three men in the kitchen had to watch as a small chunk of the hope lighting Harry's eyes disappeared before them.

"Uh…" Sam said awkwardly. "Who did you want me to look up next?"

"James Potter," Harry answered, though his tone was not as hopeful as it had been when they had been about to run the search for Sirius.

"Wait," Bobby said from across the room. "You said your last name was Potter, right?" He asked, looking to Harry for confirmation.

Harry nodded.

"So, who is this guy? Your dad, your brother?"

Sam and Dean both assumed by now that Harry didn't have any siblings, considering his parents were dead, but they couldn't be sure, though he hadn't mentioned any. It was much more likely that the guy was his father, the one who had died in the other universe. It made sense, checking to see if he had not died in this universe, as there was a chance he hadn't.

"My dad," Harry said, looking down at the portable computer.

Sam and Dean, who both knew Harry's father to be dead in the other world, both looked at each other. If the kid's parents were alive, it would complicate matters. He would want to go to them, certainly, and they had to keep an eye on him, since he was attracting so much demonic trouble. Not only that, Cas had told them to bring him along. He was important. However, if his parents came into the picture, everything would be flipped, as if it weren't chaotic enough as it was. Besides, how was the kid going to tell his parents that _he was their son from another world? _

As Sam typed in the name and clicked the search button, it became evident that this search would take a bit longer. James Potter was a much more common name than Sirius Black, and it came up with a lot more possible results. Which meant much more sifting had to be done.

There were apparently James Potters everywhere. Well, not _everywhere_, but enough to seriously hinder their search with a more generic name. James Potter, the manager of Wal-Mart. James Potter, the podiatrist (foot doctor). James Potter, the construction contractor. They all had to be looked at. It was tedious. Every time a new site was pulled up, Harry would look at the picture or read the description and shake his head once again.

Finally, they decided to look into the next name, because, like the first search, they did not seem to be getting anywhere.

"Lily Potter," Harry said.

Like James Potter, it got quite a few hits, but none that Harry could identify as his mother.

"Try Lily Evans," he said next. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"It's her maiden name."

Sam nodded and tried it out.

Again, there were quite a few results, but one in particular seemed to catch Harry's attention. Harry, himself, had no idea why this one article was calling out to him, but he had a feeling that this was it.

"That one," he said, pointing to the result, careful not to touch the screen of the laptop. Sam clicked on it, and the article opened up.

And there she was.

There was a picture of her, only a couple of years before having Harry, he thought. All Harry could see was that picture, that picture of his mother smiling into the camera with her bright green almond-shaped eyes, the same eyes that he had been told so many times he shared with her.

And, for a couple of seconds, his heart soared.

Then, his eyes finally caught on the title of the article.

"**_University Student Killed in Hit-and-Run Accident_**."

And then, the happiness that had swelled up in Harry at the chance of finally seeing his mother, even if it was her in another world, was suddenly extinguished. Harry stared at the title of the article for a few seconds, frozen. Sam and Dean were both staring at him, both of them with worried looks on their faces.

They had both seen the hope enter his eyes once more as they landed on the picture of the pretty, red-headed woman. Her eyes were the same intense green of his. If the eyes hadn't confirmed her relation to Harry, the look that entered his eyes and the smile that bloomed on his face did. However, it soon crashed as he finally read the title of the article, and they could see it. Suddenly, the teen was frozen, a pained look on his face, as his eyes read the article title over and over again, like he couldn't – didn't want to – believe it. His mother was in this universe, but she was dead, just like in his world.

Finally, Harry got out of his stupor. He looked at the rest of the article and noted the date. Then, he read the article.

**_University Student Killed in Hit-and-Run Accident_**

**_Last night, at approximately 11:36, a medical student at the local university was killed in a hit-and-run. The victim was Lily Evans, beloved daughter and sister. The victim, according to witnesses, had been driving down the street when a red Ford pickup truck came veering down the road and straight through a red light, right into the driver side of Miss Evans' car. She was killed on impact. The driver of the red pickup, with a completely totaled front bumper, backed up and fled the scene. His license plate, however had been recorded by one of the witnesses. _**

**_The driver was later identified as Darek Wendle, a 25 year old student attending the next university over. According to Wendle's friends, he had gone to a club and gotten drunk. After a few too many drinks, Wendle began to act out, groping women and antagonizing them. He was soon kicked out due to his forwardness, which had been reported by a couple of women at the club who had been enjoying themselves until he had begun to assult them, at which point, their friends called over the security, who escorted Wendle out of the club. Wendle had a friend who claimed that they would bring him home, but the friend never did any such thing. Wendle attempted to drive himself home but was extremely intoxicated, and he crashed into Lily Evans. Witnesses confirmed his identity. He is currently awaiting trial under the charge of manslaughter._**

After reading it, Harry had to read it a second time, just to let it sink in.

His mother had been killed in a drunken car accident. Suddenly, he was remembering what his aunt and uncle had always said.

"_Your parents were killed in a car wreck! Blown up by your drunken fool of a father!"_

What were the odds? That she would have actually died in a car accident caused by drunk driving? Thankfully, it wasn't his father who had caused it, because Harry would not have been able to take that, but it was what his relatives had always told him.

Sam was looking at Harry carefully. Harry hadn't told them when, exactly, his parents had been killed. Or, rather, how old he had been when his parents were killed, but Sam got the impression that it was too young for Harry to properly remember. Maybe it was because he was in the same boat when it came to his own mother, but he could just tell.

Dean was also watching Harry. He had read the article, too, and had looked at Harry to see that he was still a bit stunned. Really, Dean couldn't blame the kid. He would be stunned, too, if he had landed in another world and sought out his dead parents only to find out that one of them had been killed years ago and that the other possibly didn't even exist.

Bobby, who had been across the room, had also noticed everyone's somber expressions. So over he came. He read the article over Sam's opposite shoulder, where Harry wasn't standing. After reading, he pitied the kid, but there wasn't much he could do for him, as they had only just met.

Sam decided to be the one to break the sad silence.

"Do you still want to look for anyone else, or do you just want to go upstairs?"

Harry jumped a bit, so wrapped up in shock and sorrow that he had not even noticed the silence or the three men who were watching him carefully.

"No," he said slowly. "I want to keep searching. If my mum was alive, then there is a chance that at least one of my other friends will be, too."

He still had to look for Ron and Hermione, after all.

"Okay," Sam said, nodding his head a bit. This kid was persistent, which wasn't unexpected. Both Sam and Dean would be persistent if it had been someone close to them that they were looking for. Bobby would be, too.

"What's the next name?" Sam prompted.

Harry gathered himself and replied, "Ron Weasley. Or, Ronald Weasley, I guess." He then spelled out Weasley for Sam, who was uncertain which way it was spelled.

And up came the results. This one did not have as many results as James Potter, but there were still quite a few, and so they began to once again filter through them, waiting for Harry to point one out. However, the more Ron Weasleys they came across, the more they were beginning to doubt that they were going to find the one that Harry was looking for. Each time they would open up another site, Harry would read a description or look at a picture and shake his head, before prompting them to open the next one. Once again, he seemed determined to be ignorant to the fact that they didn't seem to be getting anywhere with this one, as he had done with the first two searches, also.

"I think this one is a bust," Dean finally said from his chair next to Sam, which he had pulled up a while ago after getting tired of simply leaning over his brother. Harry seemed content to hover over Sam's shoulder, however, and refused a chair when Sam saw his brother pull one up and offered one.

Sam had glanced at his brother and frowned. That wasn't how he would have worded it to Harry. However, that was Dean. The man certainly wasn't ever going to be getting an award for his sensitivity. Hell, he was usually the first to spot a touchy-feely moment and announce it as a "chick flick" moment before abruptly changing the topic. Sam thought it had to do with his pride, and he was right.

Looking back over to Harry, Sam asked, "Any other names?"

Harry nodded once again. "Hermione Granger."

"Hermione?" Dean asked. "That's a weird name. She's the one that you mentioned who acts kind of like Sam?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed.

"Uh… How exactly do you spell Hermione?" Sam asked, once again hesitating before typing anything into the search bar.

Harry then spelled it out for Sam, who typed it out and hit the 'Enter' key.

This time, there were not that many results, and one of the first ones ended up being what they were looking for.

It was from a school newspaper, an announcement of the valedictorian, which was Hermione. Harry wasn't surprised. She was apparently as brilliant here as she was in his world.

He looked at the picture. It was definitely her, though her hair was not as crazy as it was in Harry's world. Perhaps here she had found some way to tame the curls a bit, because they definitely looked a lot prettier. Other than that, however, she looked the same as always, just a bit older. Only by a year or two, though, which Harry had partially expected, considering the time change, and how she had already graduated here. In fact, she was an adult here.

"That's her," Harry said, pointing at the picture.

"What? _That's_ her?" Dean asked.

"Harry, are you sure?" Sam questioned slowly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's Hermione. Why?"

Sam pointed to the beginning of the school newspaper article. "Look at the date. _1998._ She'd be ten years out of high school by now." He frowned, considering the date again. "About twenty-seven or twenty-eight," he concluded.

Harry nodded. That sounded about right, considering the year that he had left his world.

"Yeah. I left my world in the year 1996," he informed them, agreeing that Sam's assessment matched his own.

"What?" Suddenly, Bobby was standing up and coming back over to their side of the room. Apparently, he was joining the conversation again. "And you just landed here a couple of days ago, and that's what attracted all of the demons, right?"

Harry nodded in confirmation.

Sam was stunned. Well, that explained why the kid had seemed so fascinated by the laptop. He was twelve years out of his timeline, so everything was probably quite advanced from the computers he had last seen. Considering the mechanical and scientific advancements of the last ten years, it must be really strange for him.

"Wait, so you're from the past?" Dean asked, staring at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose."

"What? So how old are you here?" Dean asked.

"Well, I guess, if I had a counterpart in this world-" Which he couldn't, not if his mum had died at nineteen and hadn't even gone to Hogwarts, hadn't ever met his father, who, as far as they knew, didn't even exist here. "-he would be twenty-seven." Harry shrugged again. "I'm only fifteen, though."

Sam nodded, though his eyes were still a bit wide. "Since you've only been alive for fifteen years," he finished for Harry.

"So," Bobby said, looking oddly at the other three in the kitchen before focusing on Harry, "You mean to tell me that you not only managed to somehow fall into another world, but you somehow landed in another time, too?"

Harry nodded to him.

"You apparently attract as much trouble as these two," Bobby declared, gesturing to Sam and Dean. "I swear, you idjits will be the death of me." He shook his head, but it was rather fondly, and Harry knew that the fondness was for Sam and Dean, not him.

"How did you end up here in the first place?" Bobby asked with a frown. "What were you doing that caused you to be shot into a completely separate universe?"

Both Sam and Dean were also looking at Harry, obviously just as curious about how he had ended up on this world as Bobby was.

Harry sheepishly looked down. Honestly, what had he been thinking when he jumped into the veil after Sirius? Not very much, apparently. Still, he couldn't tell them about the veil without having to go into other details. And he didn't want to or trust them enough to go into other details.

"It's a long story," he said.

"Like our long story?" Sam asked with a bit of a grin.

"Yeah," Harry said in return.

"Well, now that you know this Hermione is in this world, are going to try to go find her?" Dean asked.

Harry just shrugged a no. "What would be the point, now that I think about it? She clearly didn't go to the same school as she did in my world, and she'd be twelve years older than me. She probably has a life, and it doesn't involve me." Harry wasn't going to drag her into his life if she wasn't already involved with the wizarding world or anything like that. At least, if she had gone to Hogwarts, he could have met her and explained how he came to be in her universe, but, since she went to some other school, that was clearly not what had happened. She wouldn't understand, and she didn't need to. She wasn't his Hermione.

The three older men were silent.

"I'm going to go to bed now," Harry said quietly.

Bobby showed him up to the room that he would be sleeping in, and he got as ready for bed as he could in the unfamiliar house. His bag provided him nightclothes and a toothbrush, for which he was eternally grateful.

However, after he climbed into the big bed, Harry didn't immediately fall asleep, despite his obvious tiredness. He couldn't. There was too much to think about. As far as he could conclude, there was no magical world on this universe, which saddened Harry greatly. He had been hoping that it would exist, even though his gut had told him that it wasn't the case. He had still had to hope. Now he was almost certain. Both his mother and Hermione had gone to other schools, and, unless Hogwarts did exist and just didn't accept muggleborn students, the reason was that Hogwarts simply didn't exist.

Then, as for Ron, Sirius, and Harry's own father, Harry had to guess that purebloods just didn't exist at all, because there wasn't any record of the three that he could find. Harry didn't think that it was their gender that made the difference, because that wouldn't really matter. No, it had to be that they weren't muggleborn.

With a heavy mind, Harry finally drifted off to sleep, and when he did, it was fitful and riddled with nightmares of Cedric, his parents, and Frank and Josie Millerton, where he was blamed for all of their deaths.

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So, that ended on a depressing note... I hope you liked it, anyway. It was very strange to write the bits about Hermione and about Lily's death, probably because it was so far off of canon. I hope it turned out well.

Thank you to anyone who reviewed/favourited/followed this fic! You guys are awesome! 200 reviews, 300 faves, and almost 600 follows! I love it! Please drop a review for this chapter, if you can. I _love_ reviews.

Also, thank you to anybody who pointed out any inconsistencies in Harry's character. I fixed them upon reading the reviews. Please continue to point these out so that I may fix them! It makes the story better for those who read it after the changes, and I am aware that my writing is nowhere near perfect. I do try to do my best, though. ^.^

One last thing. My friend Saiyagirl95 posted a question over what kind of chapters her readers wanted to see. I would like to do the same. So, what kind of chapters do you guys want? Or, rather, which ones do you like the best? Do you guys like action chapters, do you like secret reveal chapters, do you like brotherly bonding chapters? Tell me, if you get the chance! I am still going to give a healthy smattering of all, but your input matters to me and will affect my writing. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey, guys!

So, I got another beta, and she is FREAKING AMAZING! I am so, so happy to be working with her, because she is majorly improving my writing skills! Her name on here is **Phantom of the Tech Booth**. Give her a round of applause for being awesome.

In other news, I have changed my Fanfiction name. For those of you just joining us, it _was_ **Nightstar113**. I decided that I didn't want numbers in my name, so it is now **Lumina Solaris**, as you can see. I hope that this does not cause any confusion for any of my readers.

Thank you to **Saiyagirl95**, who is always there for me and reads over my chapters for mistakes. You are one of my best friends! And a huge thank you to **Phantom of the Tech Booth** for being amazing with this chapter (and hopefully the ones to come).

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. I do own all of the other characters in the following and previous chapters, such as Frank and Josie Millerton, Sandra, Brent, Lena (pronounced Lee-na), and Jared.

And with that, I bring you Chapter Seven!

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Last Chapter: The boys did some research, and they could find no results for Sirius Black, James Potter, or Ron Weasley, unfortunately. They did find results for Lily Evans, but it was only an announcement in a newspaper of her death, which greatly upset Harry. Of Hermione Granger, they found out that she graduated her school as valedictorian, but the time lines between Harry's world and the Winchester's world do not match, so Hermione would be twelve years older than Harry.

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Three days. They had been hunting it for three days.

It had been hard to track it off of simply its power. But that didn't stop them.

They were at the house.

"It's not here," Brent growled, "but I can smell it. It _was_ here."

It would be theirs. That power would be theirs, no matter the cost.

"Look. Somebody left us a present," said one of the larger ones. He had a wolfish grin on his face as he lunged over to the dead bodies that were left lying in the hall.

"Leave them," commanded Brent. "You can kill a fresh one later. We're hunting." He inhaled fully, breathing in the scent of it. Now they knew what it smelled like, even under all that power.

And they would find it.

...

The next morning, Harry woke early despite the little and fitful sleep he'd had. It was habit. Anytime he wasn't at Hogwarts, in a bed that wasn't his four poster, it generally meant that he was at the Dursleys', and if he was at the Dursleys', it meant he was ordered to have breakfast cooked and on the table before the rest of the family woke, or he wouldn't be able to partake in the delicious meal he had prepared.

He attempted to go back to sleep, but it was futile. After changing clothes, he headed down the stairs, where he found Bobby in the kitchen, reading at the table. Bobby looked up at him. "Well, you sure got up early," the older man announced.

Harry just shrugged and mumbled a 'good morning.'

Bobby only nodded and gestured to the fridge and the cabinets. "Sam and Dean aren't up yet. Feel free to fix yourself something. I ain't cooking anything for you," said the older man. "I think there's cereal in that cabinet, or look in the fridge for something, or whatever."

Harry nodded and looked in the cabinet and the fridge. Yes, there was cereal. But there was also eggs, bacon, sausage, and bread. That was plenty enough for Harry to make a real breakfast.

Bobby watched him pull out all of the food with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you got any griddle pans?" Harry asked, arranging the ingredients on the counter.

Bobby pointed to a lower cabinet next to the range. "You making all that?" he asked.

Harry nodded again, pulling out the pans for cooking. Sam and Dean would surely be able to pack away a hearty breakfast; the food wouldn't go to waste. After tracking down some utensils, Harry set to work, and before long the house was filled with the smell of crackling bacon.

As Harry was cooking, he realized that he could feel something... something that wasn't the grease popping out of the pan. It was similar to how he had felt the foreign magic of this world, except it was something from _his_ world. There was something from his world here, and it had shown up overnight. Harry didn't really understand, because it didn't feel like a person, but it most definitely felt like the magic of his world. And it was familiar. Harry thought he might bring it up with the three men when he next got a chance, when the brothers were downstairs and they had all eaten their fill.

When he was nearly done with the cooking, Dean trudged down the stairs, followed by Sam.

"Smells good," Dean declared, coming into the kitchen.

"You can have some," Harry said, stepping back from the food.

"I will," said the hunter, pulling out a plate from another cabinet and filling it up nearly to the brim.

Sam thanked Harry and got his own plate. Bobby refused, saying that he had already eaten.

Dean had already started digging in, and Sam was about to before he noticed that Harry was sort of hovering around the food but not actually getting any. The boy was lost in thought. "Are you going to eat?" Sam asked, pulling the younger boy out of some sort of daze. Harry agreed and served himself a much smaller serving before joining them at the table.

When they were done, Dean said with a lopsided smile, "Kid, keep cooking like that, and you and I will become fast friends."

...

Harry confided in the hunters the feeling he had noticed earlier, how he knew that something from his world had ended up in this one, that it was something familiar.

"Is it that Sirius guy you were looking for?" asked Dean.

Harry shook his head and muttered, "I wish." Looking back up at them, he explained, "It doesn't feel like a _person_... I'm almost certain that it's an object, I just don't know what. It feels _familiar_..." It felt so achingly familiar, but what could it be?

"And you can 'feel' this, how?" asked Bobby skeptically.

Harry shrugged and looked down. "I can't explain to you. I just know." He could feel it in his magic. This sense—it wasn't scent, it wasn't touch, it was...magic. "Is it okay if I go outside to think?" He always thought clearer when he was out in the fresh air. It was one of the reasons he loved flying so much: the air. Sometimes at Hogwarts he would simply go to the pitch to go a few rounds, diving and swooping instinctively while he mulled over whatever troubled him at the time. The freedom from gravity helped him to clear his thoughts.

"Sure, kid. Just don't leave the property line," replied Bobby.

Harry nodded and left the house, the screen door swinging shut behind him. He walked over to the dozens of precariously situated cars were stacked and found a tree stump to sit on, well out of sight of the house.

If he could feel the thing from his world, there was a high chance that the demons would be able to feel it too, since they had felt him. That meant that Harry would likely need to go looking for this object, though he had no clue what it was. It could be powerful, and who knew what demons would do if they suddenly discovered a powerful magical artifact from Harry's world? It certainly wouldn't be good. And it wasn't even like Harry could use a Point-Me spell, since he didn't know what it was that needed pointing out.

Harry was thoroughly befuddled and didn't notice that shifting shadow over there, or the brush of leaves. He didn't notice anything amiss until he heard a footstep crunch over sparse gravel somewhere behind him. Before he could turn around, something heavy collided with the back of his head, and he was out.

...

When Harry came-to, he was in a metal cage. A large cage, but a cage nonetheless. It was quite grimy, and it smelled like wet dog. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the cage had actually housed dogs before he had somehow ended up in it.

His head was throbbing from being smacked with a blunt force; he could feel his heartbeat reverberating around his skull. He reached up a hand and felt the back of his head. With a groan, he realized that there was, indeed, a large bump forming there, covered in sticky, half-dried blood. He wished he had a potion to ease the pain and ache.

Peering out of the cage, Harry had to crane his neck back to account for the steep angle of looking up from the floor. The first thing he noticed was the woman. She was lounging in a chair not far from him, with her legs thrown onto the little table next to her. She was tan, with sharp features, dark eyes, and deep chestnut hair that was pulled up. There was a large scar running across her face, from just under her right eye, across her nose, and down so that it was almost touching the left-most part of her lips, which were not overly thick but certainly not thin, either.

She caught him staring. "Hello, little boy," she said, lounging even further back. She had some sort of an accent. Harry wasn't sure exactly what kind, but when she talked, her 'little' had sounded more like 'leetle.'

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

"This does not matter," she responded, waving her hand dismissively. "I will take care of you. Do not worry." Her way of speaking, her tone of voice, was very abrupt and straightforward, Harry noticed. It was a bit unsettling.

Despite her reassurance, Harry found it a wee bit hard not to worry, trapped in a cage in an unfamiliar place. Especially after being forced into the cupboard under the stairs for ten years. Harry had grown to hate small spaces and appreciate any time outside of the claustrophobic little cubby. He hadn't even minded the chores so much, as long as it meant getting out of that horrid cupboard. And now he was locked up again in a small space, this time barred. At least it wasn't dark, and he could see out of the cage.

"Why am I here?" he asked anxiously, licking his dry lips and grabbing onto one of the bars to pull himself into a more upright position.

"We will make you one of us," she responded. "Once we have you as one of our pack, we will have more power. The other beings, like the _demons_, will give us proper notice." She spit the word out as if it tasted foul. "They ignore us. They do not think us powerful enough to be worth their bother, but we are strong. You will be bitten and given the Change, and you will prove our strength to them, _our_ instincts and senses along with _your_ power." Harry furrowed his brow, considering her cryptic words. "We know that you have it. We can smell it. However…," she trailed off, before sighing, "there is one thing that I do not understand. You smell of another pack, another alpha." She then uncrossed her legs and brought them down off of the table, leaning forward to get closer to him before taking a large inhale of breath. "Yet… this smell on you, it is not one that I have smelled before."

"So?" Harry prompted, his heart racing.

"It is like us," she explained with a frown, and her scar curved downward with her lips, though they did not touch. "But it is not. It is different… I do not know how." She raised her eyebrows. "How is it that you are not changed if you are marked by an alpha?"

Harry was able to deduce that she was a werewolf, considering her questions. And, bearing in mind that the only werewolf he knew was Remus, he figured his old professor had to be the alpha this woman was smelling. Harry had always known that Remus cared for him, but he hadn't known that he had been marked by scent as part of his pack. He couldn't be upset, despite feeling a slight invasion of privacy at the thought. It seemed to be another way in which the retired Marauder was trying to protect him, even if he hadn't told Harry about it. Maybe he himself had not known that he had done it. It wasn't like Harry could ask, being in another world and all.

But Harry was not going to explain any of that to this she-wolf. Instead, he just shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"Do you have a pack?" she prodded stubbornly, unmistakably interested in the origin of his bizarre scent.

Harry did not answer. Let her assume that he had a pack that would respond viciously to his capture. The truth was that he had no idea if anyone would be coming for him. He didn't know the Winchesters well enough to determine how they would respond, even with an angel's influence. Would they deem him worthy of a dangerous rescue from a werewolf-infested den? He didn't have high hopes.

"No matter," the woman said flippantly, as if it didn't make a difference to her whether he answered, though the force of her words told Harry that she was insatiably curious. "What is your name?" she asked idly.

"Why should I tell you?"

"It does not matter to me. I will simply call you 'little boy,' then," she retorted, stretching tauntingly in front of him. The cage Harry was in was hefty—it had to be to fit a teenager—but it wasn't large enough for him to stretch in. Watching her muscles pull taught and hearing her bones pop, he noticed that his own limbs were stiff in the cramped space. He could do with a good stretch.

"You may call me Sandra," she announced. "And I will be keeping watch over you for a while yet, so I would be nice to me, were I you. I do not want to make things more…difficult."

Once again, Harry found himself longing for his wand. This time, however, it wasn't like he knew it to be just a room away, as it had been with the demon at the Millertons' house. He had no clue what had come of his precious possession.

"Did you take a stick off of me?" he asked, hoping she would know what he was talking about.

"A stick?" she repeated. "I… yes, we did. Brent took it off of you. Lena thought it pretty and asked Jared if she could have it. Since he is courting the little ditz, for what I do not know, he agreed to let her have it." She had an angry look in her eye for a second, which Harry recognized as jealousy, before she dropped the bitterness for curiosity once more. "Why?"

"I was just wondering," Harry responded quickly. Well, he would have to find this Lena woman when he managed to get out of the cage, if he managed to get out at all.

"The stick was beautiful," Sandra added quietly. Harry wasn't even sure if she was talking to him or herself. "Why would you carry it around, though, I wonder?" She was not looking at him, but the question was clearly aimed at him now.

"Er… It was my father's…" Harry lied. He hoped sentimentality would be enough.

"Yes, but what for?" she asked, cogitating aloud to him. Her tone was as casual as could be while still being abrupt. When she was talking like this, Harry could see past her oddly animalistic features to the human soul within. She was a curious one, curious and passionate and able to _feel_ beauty... It was surreal. "Did you use it to stab people in the eyes? That is what I would use it for."

That was… certainly not what he had expected her to say.

...

"Sandra," came a gruff male voice.

"Yes?" A man came into the room. He was tall and looked about as hardy as his voice. Like Sandra, he was tan, but he had dirty blond hair that was just short enough that it would not really have to be combed to keep straight. He had blue eyes and an aristocratic nose, a prominent jaw and moderately thin lips. His shirt was sleeveless, and it allowed Harry to see a considerably large, ugly scar on his bicep. It looked like some sort of animal bite; Harry would venture to guess that it was where he had been bitten by a werewolf.

"We're having a meeting," he said. The man ran his steely blue eyes up and down her body, and Harry was certain that he was undressing her in his mind. Sandra didn't seem to mind, though; she didn't pay it any attention.

"About what?" she asked, leaning back into her chair again.

"About _it_," the werewolf said, glancing notably at Harry.

Sandra frowned. "_It_ is a male, Brent."

_'You don't say_,_' _Harry thought sardonically.

"And do you know what it is?" demanded the man, lust replaced by annoyance.

Sandra only shrugged. "I have not asked."

"Yeah, well, until it tells us what it is, _it_ stays an _it_."

Harry found it more than a bit ironic that this werewolf was calling him an 'it,' considering most of the wizarding world's views on werewolves and their claim to humanity.

"I was assigned by Jared to watch him," Sandra said, her eyes returning briefly to Harry.

"It's in a locked cage. You think that it can escape?" the burly man asked.

"You do not know what powers he possesses. Is that not why we took him here in the first place?"

Just like the demons, Harry realized, these werewolves could sense his power and used it to track him.

"Listen, the meeting's not going to be that long. Has it done anything while you were watching it?"

Sandra shook her head. "Brent, you are an idiot. I do not know why Jared allows you to lead the hunts," she said, looking the man—Brent—in the eye. She languidly rose from her chair and reached up to let down her hair, which fell across her shoulders in tangles.

"Are we going?" she asked with a bit of a scowl, her arms crossed.

Brent nodded and led the way out of the room, but he was obviously bitter about Sandra's attitude. He was clearly interested in her, at least sexually, and she had called him an idiot to his face, in front of their prey. Not that Harry disagreed with her deduction. Brent was just plain stupid if he thought Harry would not at least _try_ to think of a way to possibly escape.

Harry was left alone. He sat still for a couple of minutes, hunched over in the small cage, thinking and observing his surroundings, when his eyes landed on a bobby pin laying on the ground, about a metre out of his reach. It must have been from Sandra's hair. With a start, Harry wondered if she realized that she had dropped it. Part of him wanted to believe that she was trying to help him, that there was some good in this pack, but another part pointed out that, if this was an attempt to give him an out, she had not gone about it in a way that made it easy for him.

Try as he might, he could not reach his arm through the wiry bars far enough to reach the blasted hairpin. If he could just reach it, he could pick the lock. Fred and George had taught him to pick locks after second year. They claimed that it was a necessary skill to have in lieu of using magic over the summers, and Harry couldn't help but agree now that he was locked away without a wand.

He had practiced on Hedwig's cage and the padlock on the tool-shed time and time again until he mastered the skill, but he had never needed to use it until now. And now that he needed to do it but could not reach the stupid hairpin, he felt as if fate were laughing at him. Without his wand, he couldn't reach the hairpin which, in the absence of his wand, was his only means for escape.

Feeling time slip away, Harry decided to try a bit of wandless magic, since it had worked with his wand when he was fighting the demon. He took a breath and concentrated intensely on the hairpin. He needed that hairpin. He needed it in his hand, or just a _bit closer_... his forehead broke into a sweat as he attempted to consciously channel his magic through his hand.

It was not working. Perhaps it was because the hairpin didn't have the magical connection to him that his wand did, so it could not be summoned to him. Harry would have tried summoning his wand instead, but he hadn't a clue as to where it was. Though he was desperate, he wasn't desperate enough to attempt to summon his wand blindly, where someone else would likely see it whizzing through the air, intercept it, and realize its larger significance. The last thing he needed was for these werewolves to become aware of just how important his wand was. There was a chance that they would break it, then, and he couldn't risk that when he was in a world utterly without a replacement wand.

So he fixed once again on attempting to summon the little hairpin. It wasn't like there was much else for him to do, trapped in a ruddy cage.

After several intense minutes, his fingers began to tingle. At first, he thought that they were falling asleep—he didn't have much room to move in this nauseatingly small space—but then he realized that it was quite a different matter entirely. Instead of magic rushing through his body and channeling into his wand, it was somehow trapped in his fingers. And that was the problem. The magic was indeed trapped, there was no doubt about that; it was trapped and aching to unleash. It was an uncomfortable experience. He shook his hand without really thinking, but that didn't help.

Despite the rising discomfort, he had to take advantage of the build up and find a way to use it. He closed his eyes and focused on his fingers and the feeling of magic pressing against an invisible barrier. He had to break that barrier somehow. He pictured various ways to do this, but none of them seemed to work. He tried to visualize his magic as water beating relentlessly at the barrier until it cracked, before the water would escape bit by bit through the cracks, and he imagined the cracks widening as more of the magical water tried to push through. At this point, his fingers started to hurt—the dull ache of discomfort had graduated to a prickling, then a shooting pain—and he opened his eyes to see his fingers glowing furiously. This was wrong. He abruptly stopped picturing the magic as violent water, and the pain eased away with the angry glow.

'_Well, this isn't working_.' Harry shook the memory of pain from his hand and steadied himself to try again.

This time he pictured his wand in his mind, and he was grasping it tightly. He imagined the feeling of the magic channeling through his wand and the phoenix feather core, and he tried to imagine his fingers as the wand. The bones were the core, channeling the magic, the muscle and skin as the wood, forming the barriers of the channel, the tips of his fingers as the tip of the wand, where the magic could ease through the barrier, guided by the movements of the wand. He swished his hand in the same movement that he would use with his wand for the spell _Accio_.

Then he felt it. It was working. Never had he felt his magic as much as he did in that moment. It was a part of him, filling every inch of him, buzzing through his mind pleasantly and tingling across his skin. It was right there, at his fingertips, waiting for his command, and as he waved his hand and whispered, "_Accio_," his magic recognized its task.

And the hairpin landed right in his hand.

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So… What did you guys think? Awesome? Crap? Loved it? Hated it? I like to know your thoughts on my story. Trust me, it is a big motivator. Also, if you noticed any major improvements in my writing skills, you can thank Phantom of the Tech Booth.

Also, to set this straight, that little bit of wandless magic Harry did there took a lot of effort. It also took him more than a few minutes to get to the point where he could actually use the magic. It would not be convenient to use that type of magic all of the time, as it would be very draining and time-consuming. Using a wand is just easier.

This chapter marks the first point in this fic where I have made mention of something that is majorly connected to the main plot for this. We're getting there. ;) This will just be a long process, so don't worry, because it won't be ending anytime soon. As for the amount of chapters I will have, I don't have a clue, but we are just passing the exposition now. Things are going to start happening.

Please drop a review, if you can, because they help me write at a faster pace, and they let me know what you guys think. Long reviews are even better! ^.^


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, guys!

Sorry it has been over a week, but it hasn't been two weeks yet, so it isn't_ that_ bad, I hope. Anyway, again, thank you, **Saiyagirl95**! Also, a huge thank you to **Phantom of the Tech Booth**, who was once again freaking amazing with this chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such wonderful stories for us to enjoy and play with. I do own all of the other characters in the following and previous chapters, such as Frank and Josie Millerton, Sandra, Brent, Lena (pronounced Lee-na), Jared, and Jason (who shows up in this chapter – he just doesn't have any reason to say his own name).

So, here is chapter eight!

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Last Chapter: Harry made breakfast for the guys. He also realized that something from his world – something familiar – has dropped into this world. After breakfast, he goes outside to think… and he gets knocked over the head by some unknown people. He wakes up in a cage, where he is being watched by a werewolf named Sandra, who brings up some interesting things. Brent, another werewolf, comes in to tell Sandra that she has to join the rest of the wolves for a meeting about Harry. Sandra thinks that it is utterly stupid to leave Harry unwatched but goes anyway, leaving a hairpin behind, possibly on purpose. Harry has to concentrate extremely hard to get the hairpin to come to him with wandless magic, with the intent of picking the lock on the cage.

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Panting, Harry realized why wizards used wands. He had felt the magic rush out of him in a massive wave, unimpeded. He should not have needed to use such force for a simple summoning charm, yet he felt like he had just fought a wizard's duel and then ran a marathon. Without his wand, there was nothing to control the flow, nothing to put an end to the magnetic pull once his magic locked onto an external target.

And then Harry realized his stupid, stupid mistake, one that even Ron would have pointed out immediately. It was like he was back in first year:

"_Are you a wizard or aren't you?_"

He could have just used _Alohamora_. He wanted to slap a hand to his forehead, but he wasn't sure he could spare the energy. He was exhausted, magically and physically, and he doubted he would be able to pull off any more miracles today. He needed to get his wand back. From Lena. Hopefully she would have just put it in her room, forgotten for the meeting. He somehow doubted prying it away from her person would go well at all.

He turned his focus back to the task at hand: picking the lock. Taking the hairpin, he reached his sweaty hand out through the bars just enough to grab the padlock on the door of his cage. Craning it toward him as much as he could, he inserted the hairpin into the keyhole. He listened and tried to feel the click of the lock pins inside of the cylinder. He needed to pick each individual pin, push it up just enough that it would match the form of the cylinder inside the lock, and then he could turn it and unlock it. It would take time. Each pin was likely a different length, and he would have to fiddle with all of them to fit their slots.

After several long minutes (he never claimed swiftness in his lockpicking), he finally managed to get all of the pins lined up in the cylinder, and, after nearly breaking the hairpin, he was able to turn his homemade key until the device popped open. He let the defeated lock drop to the ground and winced at the clatter it caused. As the door swung open and he scrambled out, he felt like he could breathe again. He thought that, even if he ended up dying out here, it was better than being stuck in that damn cage.

The first thing Harry did was stretch. It was a long stretch, perhaps longer than he could afford, alive with pops and cracks and a little groan of satisfaction. And it felt good.

He looked around the dusty, cement-encased room to see if there was anything of interest that he could use but hadn't been able to see from down in the cage. Really, the view from down there wasn't exactly a grand one.

Unfortunately for Harry, there really wasn't much else to be found. There was junk strewn about, but none of it really useful in his case, unless he intended to club someone over the head with a hairbrush, however tempting a head-bashing might be. A plank of wood would have been useful.

So, without any proper weapon, Harry crept up the stairs and into a hall, hoping the werewolves wouldn't hear the thunder of his heart. The beasts appeared to live in a dilapidated old house in the middle of the woods, judging by the forestation outside each murky window. Fantastic. Navigating that would be fun. Not for the first time since coming to this world, he wished he had his Firebolt with him.

When he ventured down the hall, the floorboards under his sneakers creaked loudly, and he froze, listening. After nearly a minute, he was satisfied that he hadn't heard anyone coming to catch him and throw him back in that cage. In fact, there weren't many sounds to be heard at all. Just the expected ambient noise of the forest outside and the general groans of an older house.

There were eight doors in this hallway, including the one he had come from. Judging from the quiet, he assumed that particular floor was deserted, but Harry wasn't about to risk being caught again because he was careless enough to write off a sleeping or brooding werewolf or something. Hermione's voice was nagging him in the back of his mind, full of warnings but with no brilliant ideas.

As stealthily as he could, Harry slowly turned the doorknob to the first room. He eased the door open and winced when the hinges immediately screamed in protest. Thankfully, no one was in the bedroom. It certainly wasn't a woman's room, of that he was certain, so he retreated back into the hall, pulling the noisy door closed behind him.

The next room was much the same. The next door led to a bathroom, and somehow Harry doubted they would be keeping his wand there. Even so, he could not risk losing his most precious possession by not checking one little bathroom, so he rummaged through the drawers and opened the cabinet under the sink just to be sure. As expected, he only found water-damaged rolls of toilet paper for his efforts.

The next room was a woman's bedroom, so Harry began poking about more carefully. The room was furnished with wooden nightstands and matching furniture, and it looked to be under much better care than the previous two bedrooms he had been in. It was definitely much tidier. The desk and nightstands were sparsely covered with knick-knacks, but no wand. That left looking through the drawers, which Harry didn't mind, if not for the fact that he didn't want to be caught rooting around in some unknown woman's clothes. He was British, his dignity couldn't afford to be caught now. He blushed bright red when he came across the underwear drawer and nearly crawled out of the window in defeat.

The search yielded no results, despite his ordeal. Either this was not Lena's room, or she was carrying his wand around with her. Or perhaps she had set it down somewhere else. Exiting the room cautiously, Harry did not think that he would be able to search a house full of werewolves without once coming across one of them.

And it didn't take long before he did.

It was the next room that he checked. As (bad) luck would have it, there was a man sleeping in the room, and he was not happy to be woken up. When Harry pushed open the door, the bed inside was out of view and he had stupidly begun to think that he was in the clear for now. But then, peering around the door to find a thickly-built, muscular man, his heart jumped into his throat and he stopped dead in his tracks, unable to breathe. The man rolled over on top of the sheets and mumbled something along the lines of, "'m tryin t'sleep... Go'way, S'ndra."

Harry started to back out, hoping that the man would simply nod off again and leave him to his search. No such luck. The man cracked an eye open with a scowl as the floor creaked once again under Harry's feet, and Harry cursed his absurd luck. The man, whose eyes were actually an interesting light shade of brown, suddenly leaped out of his bed.

"Who're you?" he demanded, awake and alert, his bright eyes flashing.

Harry panicked and did the first thing he could think of. He picked up the nearest thing that his hands could land on, which turned out to be a tissue box on the side table, and hurled it at the man's face. At the very least, the man did not seem to expect it and didn't bother to block its path. It hit him square in the face, causing him to emit a _very_ loud and rumbling growl. And then he jumped through the air, heading right for his boy-target.

Said target tried to dart out of the way, but the man still managed to land partially on him, grabbing his wrist, and Harry could not hold in a yelp of pain when he felt it twist painfully. The man's nails, which were longer and sharper than those of any normal person, were digging into the soft skin of his forearm, drawing blood.

"Who—are—you?" the man repeated, twisting his wrist again for emphasis.

Harry suspected that the man already knew who he was and what he was there for. He let out a gasp and wriggled around in the man's grasp. It was one of the nice things about being small; his stature had certainly gotten him out of plenty of situations in the past, and for that Harry was grateful. However, this time it caused the man's nails to dig further into Harry's arm, and he had to stifle a groan when the pain flared again. Ignoring it, Harry managed to aim an awkward kick straight at the man's face.

"AAARRRGH!" The man stumbled back, releasing Harry to instead cradle his repeatedly abused face. Harry was happy to see blood begin to drip down from his claw-like hand.

"You little shit!" he ground out through his hand, his voice muffled and a few octaves higher than before. "That's my fuckin' nose!" He looked like he was about to lunge at Harry again; his eyes were alight with fury.

Harry didn't stick around to find out, though. He peeled out of the room and down the hall, abandoning his fruitless search. Tearing around corners without caution, he headed to where he hoped was the front of the house. He could hear the man loudly fumbling after him, cursing and gaining speed. He had to get out.

...

"What do you think he's doing out there?" asked Dean, glancing out the window.

"How should I know? Probably thinking."

Dean frowned at his brother. "Well, you…get along."

Sam sighed. "That's because I don't call him 'kid,' and I generally try to be understanding of his situation. I also helped him look into his friends." Sam raised an eyebrow when Dean opened his mouth to protest. "All you did was bring pie."

Dean looked affronted. "I'm plenty understanding!" he quipped, stepping away from the window and fuming silently for a moment. "And what's wrong with pie?! Bobby told me to get some! It isn't my fault the kid didn't want any! Who doesn't like pie...?"

Sam frowned, taking Dean's deserted place at the window. "He _has_ been out there for a while…"

"So? You just said he was probably _thinking_, you know, about _stuff_."

"Yeah, but we should probably go check on him."

"You mean _you_ should probably go check on him," Dean corrected with a smirk.

"Aaand _that's_ why he likes me better."

That knocked the grin off Dean's face.

"Fine, I'll do it," Dean acquiesced, frowning. It wouldn't do to have the kid not like him. Castiel said that he was important, so that meant he would probably end up being useful later. And it wasn't like he was a bad kid or anything… Dean just didn't trust him. He was hiding something—not just the details of his life story, Dean of all people could understand that, but something big. Something important, that could possibly affect the outcome of their whole apocalypse situation. Castiel knew it and refused to clue them in. Sam, like Dean, knew the kid was hiding something, but it was beyond Dean how Sam could put such blind trust in a stranger.

What Dean didn't know was that, under normal circumstances, Sam probably would not have understood Harry's reluctance to tell them anything about his mysterious powers. But, in his present situation, Sam would be a hypocrite to judge the boy on that. After all, was he not hiding something just as big from his own brother? Dean didn't understand. There were things that he didn't approve of—things that were necessary in order to win the war and not just the battle. Honour was good and all, but it would not win the war. Power, on the other hand, could, and sometimes a few traditional morals needed to be sacrificed to do what was necessary. So Sam could understand why Harry was weary. He didn't know what the kid was hiding, but, like the younger of the Winchesters, he must have his reasons. It certainly didn't make him a bad person.

Dean marched out onto the front porch. "Hey, kid!" he called out, waiting for some little outburst about not wanting to be called 'kid.' But none came.

"Kid?" he tried again, coming down off of the porch and scanning what he could see of the salvage yard. He didn't see the boy anywhere.

"Hey, kid, where the hell are you?" His voice was louder now; the time for jokes was over. When he still got no response, he called out, "Harry!"

Nothing.

He began to search around the yard, even going to the 'garage,' as Bobby called it, though everyone knew that it really could not qualify as one. The kid wasn't anywhere to be found. Dean was about to go inside to get the other two men when he caught sight of something familiar.

It was the kid's bag. The ugly bag that he seemed to carry around everywhere. Dean thought that it must be holding something either really important or really sentimental. Either way, he somehow doubted the kid would just leave a bag that he hadn't let out of his sight since they found him. He hastened over to the tree stump against which the bag was leaning. It was as he was picking up the bag that his sharp eyes picked up the blood. There was a small smattering of it, innocently glistening on the blades of grass in the late morning sun, contrasting with the green-yellow colouring of the lawn around it.

"Well, fuck."

Grabbing the bag, which was surprisingly light, Dean rushed back into the house. When he entered the sitting room _without_ a teenager in tow, Sam looked at him questioningly. Dean dropped the bag on one of the couches.

"He's not out there," he said.

"What do you mean?"

Dean growled. "He's not out there. He left his bag, and there's some blood on the ground near the tree stump where I found that," he explained, gesturing to the bag.

"You're sure?" Sam asked with a tight frown.

"Yeah, I'm freaking sure! He's not there."

"Great," Sam said sarcastically. "We haven't even been with him for a full two days and we already lost him."

"Lost who?" asked Bobby, coming of the bathroom.

"Harry," Sam replied at the same time that Dean said, "the kid."

Bobby stopped in his tracks, his fingers lingering over his half-buckled belt. "What?"

"He's not out there," Dean snapped again before describing the unfortunate signs he had discovered.

"Well, shit." Bobby looked between the two brothers. "What're we supposed to do? Any clues as to where he was taken?"

Dean shook his head, but the three men went back outside to inspect the site anyway. There was the chance that Dean had missed something, after all. Returning to the crime scene, however, it did not seem that way. After a good ten minutes of looking all over the yard for any clues as to where the young wizard had gone, they concluded that there wasn't anything out there that would give them an explanation or a location.

"Check his bag," Bobby huffed when they returned to the house. Dean raised an eyebrow but did as the older man suggested. Picking up the bag and setting it on the table, he unzipped the smaller pouch on the front. It was empty. Opening the second pouch, the bigger one, he found it also empty.

"What the hell?" he asked no one in particular.

"What?" asked both Bobby and Sam, who both tried to see into the bag.

"There's nothing in here!" Dean exclaimed.

"Let me see," said Sam, grabbing the bag from in front of Dean. Sure enough, it was empty. There was something off about it, though.

"This can't be right," he said, reaching in.

"What, do you think there's some _secret_ pouch?" Dean asked as his younger brother reached his hand into the obviously empty bag.

Sam just shook his head before he suddenly got a surprised and perplexed look on his face.

"What?" asked Dean. "I was just kidding—you actually found one?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head again. "I can't feel the bottom."

"_What?_" Dean and Bobby simultaneously asked, crowding closer.

"I can't feel any bottom to this bag," Sam repeated, reaching his arm even further into it. He was almost up to his shoulder. It was surreal.

"That's impossible," Bobby said, even though he could clearly see that Sam's arm was being swallowed by the small bag. It was impossible and yet it was true.

"Here, you try," challenged the younger hunter, taking out his arm and pushing the bag to the older man.

Bobby took the bag with a frown and reached his arm in. And it just kept going. His eyes got very wide as he pushed down, down, down, searching for a bottom.

"What?" he exclaimed, waving his arm around in the empty space inside the bag. The air in the bag was also strangely warm.

"Lemme see," demanded Dean when Bobby finally recovered his hand, looking from his arm to the bag suspiciously. Reaching his own arm in, Dean got the same result.

"What the hell?" he declared viciously, staring at the bag with an odd look. "What happens when you put something in it?"

The other two frowned. Bobby finished off his beer bottle and capped it. Then he took the bag back from Dean and dropped the bottle inside. Looking back into the bag, he announced, "It's gone." He even reached his hand in to feel around, but it still felt as empty and endless as it had felt the first time that he had stuck his hand in.

"What? You mean it just _ate_ the bottle?" Dean demanded aggressively.

Bobby just shrugged. "It ain't there anymore, that I can feel or see, that's for sure."

"Why are you looking through Harry Potter's possessions?" came a voice from behind the three men. Bobby whipped around, pulling a gun out of nowhere.

Catching sight of the trench-coated angel who was simply standing there, the older man let out a sigh, lowering his gun. "Don't do that again," he grunted out. "I almost shot you."

"You cannot injure or kill an angel with a regular gun," Castiel said blankly.

Bobby huffed. "Fine, then, I almost wasted perfectly good bullets."

Castiel simply repeated his earlier question. "Why are you looking through Harry Potter's possessions? It will not help you locate him."

Bobby frowned, before Dean said, "Well, we didn't know that it was a demon bag!"

The angel frowned in slight confusion. "The bag is not a demon."

Dean gave him a flat look before claiming, "Well, it's not normal!"

Castiel ignored him. "You allowed Harry Potter to be kidnapped by werewolves."

There was silence for a few seconds as the angel's words sunk in. "So that's what happened," Sam said, breaking the silence.

"I told you to look after Harry Potter," stated Castiel.

"We're not his babysitters! How were we supposed to know that the second we weren't watching him he'd be freakin' _kidnapped?_" Dean exclaimed.

"If the werewolves or any other creatures gain control of Harry Potter, it will become almost impossible to prevent the apocalypse."

"What?" shouted Dean, at the same time that Sam asked, "He's _that_ important?"

The angel just said, "You must retrieve him before he is forced into becoming a werewolf."

"How are we supposed to do that when we don't even know where he is?" asked Sam.

"I will take you there," answered the angel.

"You'll…take us there," Dean repeated suspiciously. "Of course you will. With your angel powers. That's normal."

"I do not claim to be normal."

"Clearly," said Dean. "Let me go get some stuff. Bobby?"

"I'll stay here. Dave's on a hunt right now, said he'd probably need someone to act as chief o' police force for him." Dean nodded. He and Sam loaded up with guns and silver bullets before convening back in the kitchen, brimming with energy.

"Okay, let's go get the kid!" declared Dean.

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So, what did you guys think? Please, please leave a review. Encourage my writing! Thank you for reading. ^.^


	9. Chapter 9

Hello!

So, I got to writing this, and it is really my first time writing an action scene, so tell me what you think of it!

Also, I have a question for you all at the bottom, so please give me your input.

Anyway, again, thank you, **Saiyagirl95**! Also, a huge thank you to **Phantom of the Tech Booth**, who continues to be amazing.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to either Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do thank the wonderful creators of each series for making such amazing stories for us to enjoy and play with. I do own all of the other characters in the following and previous chapters, such as Frank and Josie Millerton, Sandra, Brent, Lena (pronounced Lee-na), Jared, and Jason.

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Last Chapter: Harry picked the lock to the cage and got free. He decided to go in search for his missing wand. While searching, he managed to wake up a very large werewolf by the name of Jason, who immediately attacked Harry. Fun, right? Back with the Winchesters, Harry's disappearance did not go unnoticed. However, neither did his magic endless bag. The boys are a bit suspicious, but they have other things to deal with – namely, rescuing Harry, who Castiel informs them was kidnapped by werewolves. Cas, handy as he is, also offers to use his angel powers to transport the boys to the werewolves' lair.

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Traveling with Castiel was disorienting. Dean's head was spinning, and upon arrival he promptly found a nice patch of damp grass on which to throw himself.

"Ugghhh, you should have warned me," he groaned, simultaneously clutching his head and his stomach. One was pounding, the other was twisting, and the combination made him want to hurl. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, that sour taste that creeps into your mouth, alerting you to the fact that the vomit would soon follow. "I think I'm gonna puke…"

"Are you alright?" asked Sam, and Dean looked over to see that his younger brother looked perfectly fine. _'Figures.'_

He looked around. They were in the middle of a forest, and Dean could see a fairly large house just a bit off from where they were.

"Is that it?" he asked Castiel. The house was big, sure, but it didn't look to be in great shape. The shudders were falling off, the siding was covered in mould, there were misplaced shingles on the roof, and the wooden supports for the porch looked rotted through. He couldn't imagine anyone inhabiting this dump.

"That is where Harry Potter was taken when he was kidnapped," the angel affirmed.

"Great," said Dean sarcastically, climbing to his feet while futilely trying to pat the mud from the seat of his pants. "Why didn't you just transport us straight _inside_ the house?"

"It is not logical to risk being found out immediately when the door is kept unlocked."

He grunted, acquiescing the angel's sound reasoning, though he didn't have to be happy about it. "Well, let's just go, then." With that, they trudged over to the old and slightly-warped house. When they stepped onto the porch, it creaked loudly. Because a creaky house was just what someone needs when they are trying to sneak in. It was just their luck.

The door was unlocked, just as Castiel had said it would be, so when Sam turned the knob, it gave no resistance. In fact, it gave so little resistance that it almost swung wide and hit the wall, but Sam caught it just in time. The brothers breathed a silent sigh of relief.

They were in the front hallway. They could all hear voices, though they were muffled - through a door, most likely.

"Cas, do you know where the kid is?" asked Dean quietly, eying the hallway before them and the multiple doors, which certainly wouldn't be any fun to search blindly.

"He is in this house. I do not know which room."

"We should probably split up," Sam suggested in a whisper, looking around at the numerous rooms. "Who knows how long we have? This house is pretty big, and we can get to him faster if we each search separately."

Dean nodded sharply, signaling what directions they would take. Sam took the left, and Castiel made his way over to the right. That left Dean to go down the hall.

….

Sam made sure to check all of the rooms to the left, though he couldn't really find anything of interest, besides rotting furniture. Had he not been able to hear the voices down the hall, he would assume that the house was deserted.

The house looked just like any old house would be expected to look like, if not quite a bit fancy. Sam even found a servant's staircase running behind some of the rooms. Clearly this house came from some serious money back in its day.

When he came to the servant's staircase, Sam descended a short flight of steps into a sparsely decorated room—a room that finally caught Sam's attention. The furnishings of the other rooms had not been in good shape, which was obvious, but it was easy to tell by looking at them that they had once been very expensive. This room, however, was barely furnished, save for a large padded chair and a wooden side table. There was also a lot of junk spread across the room. It had probably once been the servant's quarters, if the decades-gone attempt at making it hospitable were any indication: pale wallpaper was peeling from floor to ceiling and the fireplace was well-worn, but plain in appearance. That wasn't what caught Sam's attention, however.

There was a cage in the middle of the room. It was big by animal standards, and it looked to be about the right size for a large dog. Had Sam not known otherwise, he would have guessed that the werewolves used cages to lock themselves up during the full moon. But werewolves tended to enjoy their time in their lupine form, so what was this cage for? Fresh meat? He shuddered.

Sam got closer to inspect the cage. There were a couple of smeared drops of blood at the bottom, and it was fresh, not even dry yet. Someone who was wounded had been in the cage recently. There was also a bit of blood on the bars near the latch. Looking around a bit, Sam noticed a discarded padlock. He picked it up. The metal was scratched up around the keyhole, and there was a bit of blood on it as well, like there had been near the latch. It was obvious that someone had done some desperate lock-picking, and Sam thought it safe to assume that it had been Harry.

….

The further Dean went down the hall, the louder the voices became, though they remained muffled.

The voices turned out to be coming from a room just on the right of the main lounge, which was at the end of the entrance hall. A set of ornate pocket-doors led to this room, unlike the other doors, which made Dean think that it was a small library or perhaps the dining room.

"I'm saying that we need to haul ass," came a smooth baritone voice through the doors.

"But I was just starting to like this house…" This time it was female speaking, distinctly.

"Yeah, Lena, I know, but we didn't know that there were hunters living twenty minutes away when we decided to settle here." It was the first voice.

"_What_?" came another male voice, this one more gravelly than the first male's voice.

"Brent didn't tell you?" asked another guy. "They picked up the brat at some crap auto-yard just twenty minutes away from here." Dean frowned.

"But I thought they got him in Iowa…"

"No, you idiot, that's where they originally tracked him to. Then they followed his trail back to the car-lot. That's where they bagged him."

"Where's Jason?" asked the gravelly one.

"Probably sleeping," answered another woman, and her voice was about as silky as voices get.

"It doesn't matter," interrupted the first voice, the smooth baritone. "The point is, it's been a couple of hours already, and it likely ain't gonna take that long before they come looking for the kid. We need to pack up and go. Not to mention that other alpha. This pack is already in enough shit, and we don't need to get tangled up into some other pack's politics. We need to grab the kid and go, and we can bite him when we've moved. I don't want to deal with him moaning the whole goddamned time that we're getting there. We'll deal with it later."

Dean didn't know what he meant about another pack, but apparently the others did, because they all made sounds of agreement.

"Well, I guess I'll go gather my stuff…" said the woman who was apparently named Lena.

Dean backed up and crouched behind a chair in the corner. He peeked around to see the doors slide open. A strawberry-blonde woman came out first, and she was twirling some sort of stick in her hand, but she stopped in her tracks immediately.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, scrunching up her nose. A man with black hair and tan skin followed her out, stopping along with her when she asked the question. "What?" he asked, and Dean could recognise him as the one with the gravelly voice who had been referred to as an idiot earlier. "It smells like mould. This fucking house always smells like mould."

"No," countered the blond, "ignore that." She was looking around the room with suspicion.

Dean quietly backed even further behind the chair so that he was out of her sight and slowly pulled out his gun, waiting.

The other man grumbled and took a deep breath. "Ahh," he breathed out, "there's someone here."

Suddenly, there was a yell from upstairs, and it was loud. "AAARRRGH!" It was soon followed by multiple curses and obscenities.

"What the hell is Jason on about now?" demanded the brunette man, looking up, temporarily distracted from Dean's scent.

All of a sudden there was a lot of thumping from above them while the cursing continued.

"Jason!" called the man, "What the hell're you doing up there?"

Two things happened at once. First, the woman's eyes locked onto Dean's, blue onto green, and she froze. Second, Harry Potter suddenly came barreling into the room with blood running down his arm. The woman swung around to look at Harry as he darted past her, and that was her mistake.

Dean held up the gun that he had been clutching since he had crept behind the chair and jumped out. Leveling at the woman's leg, he let it off. It was silver. She would not die immediately, but it would hinder her movement, and without medical attention, the silver would kill her within the hour. She screamed, losing her balance and falling to the ground as the silver bullet dug into her calf. She grabbed her leg and her scream dropped to a vicious growl.

All hell broke loose. The woman had dropped the stick that she had been twirling earlier in favour of her injured leg, and Harry caught sight of it, immediately springing for it. At the same time, about six werewolves came funneling out of the meeting room and into the lounge.

"_Sam_!" yelled Dean, aiming his gun at the closest werewolf. One of the bigger ones with dark skin noticed Harry and pounced at him, landing on him awkwardly. Dean wanted to shoot it, but there was a chance he would hit the kid, and he was currently dealing with his own slew of werewolves.

"We – just – caught – you!" bit out the large dark werewolf from on top of Harry. His arms were pinning the skinny teen down. Harry gripped his wand, feeling the magic once again funnel through it, warming him. It was a welcome feeling. Though he was still exhausted from his attempt at wandless magic earlier, his old friend was once again in his hand, giving him the power to take control of the situation. Harry punched the man's face, and the man let out a grunt and went to grab Harry's already injured arm. But Harry was faster. "_Stupefy_!" he whispered, jabbing his wand into the man's ribs. The red beam of the spell hit the man and he keeled over on top of him, stunned.

Suddenly, there was a scream. "_Jared_!"

It was from the strawberry-blonde woman on the floor, whom Dean had shot in the leg. Harry could guess that she was Lena, since she had been the one to drop his wand. She suddenly got a look of rage on her face. "I'll kill you!" she screamed furiously. Harry glanced up at the man whose unconscious body was currently crushing him. She seemed to think that Harry had killed her friend.

Lena started to drag herself into an upright position, and her face twisted into agony as she put weight on her injured leg. Harry expected her to fall back over, but she didn't. She just kept pulling herself up, determined to make Harry pay. He struggled out from underneath the weight of the stunned fellow just as she threw herself forward with a scream that was half fury and half pain. Her nails—talons, really—caught on Harry's chest as she fell toward him, raking deep into his abdomen, and this time it was Harry who let out a screech of pain.

Dean had been dealing with three werewolves at once. The first one was large and blond. He had made a grab for Dean's throat, and Dean was almost caught in his grasp, but he managed to twist out of the way just in time.

"Bobby's – salvage – yard – is – not – crappy!" he yelled, kicking him in the face. He aimed his gun when the werewolf managed to scramble to his feet and shot him full in the chest. The man tumbled backward, and one of the werewolves, a smaller one, almost fell over with him as all of the dead weight fell onto him.

"Shit!" yelled the werewolf, and his companion gave a vicious laugh as he struggled to push off the large body. While the man was distracted with getting out from under the other one, Dean put a silver bullet in his shoulder. He was left with the one who had laughed at his packmate.

The werewolf, like his predecessor, decided to make a grab for Dean. He got a silver slug to the heart for his efforts.

Then Dean heard Harry yell out. He looked over to see the blonde woman fall over, still gripping onto the kid's shirt, where his abdomen was quickly starting to bleed.

'_Didn't I just shoot this bitch?_' Dean thought to himself. Why the hell didn't she just stay down?

From this angle, there wasn't much chance of Dean missing his target and hitting Harry instead, so he decided to take the shot. Aiming his gun for the woman once again, he managed to sink a bullet into her side, causing her to once again scream out. Harry scrambled backward away from her and looked at Dean with wide but thankful eyes.

"This house is like a maze!"

Dean whipped around to see his brother enter the room from a completely different entrance than he had used, through a door in the wall that he had not even noticed was there. "Where the hell were you?" he demanded.

"Servant's quarters," Sam answered, looking over at Dean and then Harry. He didn't get the chance to further explain, because one of the other three werewolves that hadn't been attacking Dean lunged at him. The other two seemed to be occupying themselves, oddly enough. One of them was a woman with a scar running down her face. She was currently wrestling with another large and blond werewolf, this one with an ugly scar on his bicep. Just then, another werewolf came fumbling into the room, through the same entrance that Harry had used.

"How many of you are there?" Dean asked nobody in particular. They just kept coming. It was freaking ridiculous.

"You little shit!" the werewolf yelled, and Dean honestly thought the guy needed some sleep. He had bags under his eyes, which were astonishingly bright for how tired he looked. His nose was bleeding profusely and his hand was dripping blood as well, but it didn't look like it was from an injury; it was probably why the blood from his nose was smeared over his face. He must have tried and failed to stop the bleeding by cramming his hand over his nose. Honestly, it was no wonder why it hadn't worked. The man was clearly enraged, his blood was pumping like crazy, and it wasn't going to stop gushing out of his nose unless he calmed the hell down.

But Sam wasn't going to give him that opportunity. He immediately aimed a kick at the shin of another werewolf that had been about to attack him, causing him to howl and hop around on one foot. While it was busy, Sam took a hasty shot at the already-bloody werewolf that looked dead-set on mutilating his teenage target, and the bullet just barely caught him in the neck, causing him to fall, gurgling, to the floor.

Dean took care of the other werewolf that was still hopping around on one foot and howling indignities by delivering a shot to the head.

The scarred woman seemed to have had enough of her fight, and she abruptly reached out and grabbed the head of her adversary, and she yanked it to the side violently, snapping his neck. He, too, fell over.

Both Sam and Dean aimed their guns at her, and that was when Harry finally raised his voice. "Stop!" he shouted hoarsely, just before Dean could pull the trigger.

"Can't you see? She was fighting him off!"

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I think she let me out of the cage," Harry tried to explain, his eyes darting between Dean and the woman.

"They kept you in a cage?" Dean asked, his other eyebrow joining the first.

Harry looked down. "It wasn't that bad," he muttered, before realizing that he was actually defending them.

Dean looked even more confused. "And how can you _think _that she let you out of a cage? Either she did or she didn't."

Harry glanced over at the woman.

She shrugged. "I did drop a hairpin, if that is what you mean."

"To pick the lock," Sam concluded.

Just then, Castiel came walking into the room, looking about calmly at the slew of bodies. "About time you showed up," Dean said grumpily.

Castiel just gave him a flat look. "You managed fine on your own."

"You could have helped," Dean argued.

Castiel did not respond.

"So, you are the hunters?" asked the woman, who was now lounging on the couch with her legs crossed and propped up on the armrest.

_'What the hell?' _thought Dean. How could she be so relaxed?

"Yeah, we're hunters," Sam answered.

"You come for our little boy, then? What if I do not want to give him to you?" She asked, looking up at Sam and Dean with a glint of hate.

"Then we _shoot_ _you_," replied the older brother incredulously. Honestly, what was this woman thinking?

The woman shook her head and mumbled, "You are all the same…" Looking back up at them, she put on an exaggerated pout. "Well, I _am_ the one who allowed him to escape the cage. Had you not interfered, I would have ensured that he escaped unscathed."

"That doesn't make him _your_ responsibility!" said Sam.

"_I_ did not allow him to be kidnapped," she taunted.

"No, you're the ones who freaking _did _the kidnapping!" growled Dean.

"Er, hello?" said Harry.

Everyone turned to look at him. He turned to Sam and Dean. "Could you at least _not_ kill her?"

"Little boy, you assume that they _could_ kill me," the woman said lightly, looking at Harry strangely. "I will take you with me. I will not allow them to have you so that they can toss you aside later, and I did not need this pack. _We_ do not need this pack. I saw how powerful you are. Jared was the only person in this pack besides me who was smart, and you knocked him unconscious without any trouble."

"What?" asked Dean, looking over to where Harry had been struggling earlier with one of the beasts. Sure enough, the large dark-skinned man who was lying there was still breathing. "How the hell did you do that?" he asked, trying to see how a scrawny kid could possibly knock out that train of a man.

Harry just shrugged.

The woman, however, was grinning. "With his powers," she answered for him. "I saw you." Harry was shaking his head, his eyes wide and unreadable, but she just continued on. "You are very powerful. These hunters will not understand you. They are just humans, and they will kill you as soon as they realize just how powerful you are. Can you not see that? I will bring you with me, I will change you, and you will be my son."

Dean was staring at her in wonder. "Lady, you're freaking delusional. You can't just _make_ him your son."

The woman frowned. "Why not?"

Everyone except Castiel was staring at the woman like she was crazy.

"You will not take him with you," said the angel.

"I do not care for your words,_ hunter_," the woman spit out, getting up from the couch and standing at her full height in front of Castiel, trying to make herself as intimidating as possible.

"I am not a hunter," Castiel said calmly. "I am an angel of the Lord."

_'He seems to say that a lot_,' was all that Harry could think. '_He must be really proud of it.'_

"Angels do not exist," she said venomously. "And neither does God. There was no God to save me or my little brother from the monsters when I was little, so I will save _this_ boy from the monsters, before you kill him for being himself!"

"We're not gonna kill him!" protested Dean hotly, his voice turning to gravel. "We're looking after him!"

"You say that now," countered the woman, "but you know nothing of what he can do. You are oblivious. I know not much of him, but I see this! You will kill him when you discover what he can do, just like you kill everything that is not _perfectly _human! I know your kind, hunter! Where do you think I got this scar on my face? Hunters killed my brother, and I will not allow you to kill this boy! All you see when you look at someone who is not human is a monster! _You_ are the real monsters!" Her accent was thick with emotion; she was breathing heavily and her face was flushed. Despite her relaxed posture on the chair, her body was rigid.

"How are you any different?" Sam asked quietly, challenging her words.

"What?" she snapped, rearing up. She apparently took that as an extreme insult.

"You just said that we assume anyone who isn't human is a monster. Castiel isn't human, and he's not a monster. And you're doing the exact thing that you're accusing _us_ of doing." The woman's eyes dropped and the smooth stoicism returned to her features as she pondered his words. "How are you so sure we would kill Harry when we discover what he can do with his powers?"

The woman looked deeply troubled now. "I… I must go." With that, she retreated upstairs.

Dean stared at her as she left. "Women," he huffed. "I'll never understand them."

Sam also looked bewildered.

"Should we go after her?" asked Dean with a frown.

"She saved me," Harry spoke up again. Even though the woman wasn't right in all of her beliefs, her reason for saving him had been justified, and good. She just wanted to protect him. "Just leave her alone. Enough people have already died." The hunters hesitated, their guns still drawn and trained at the staircase the woman had ascended moments ago. "Please."

There was a sort of pleading determination in his eyes, one that warned he would fight them over it. While Harry held the same gratitude to the two brothers and their angel for saving him in Iowa, it didn't mean that he would allow them to kill a woman who had helped him. If it came to it, he would leave them. He wasn't going to stay with people who killed others simply for being what they could not help but be.

"I…" Dean started, but then Castiel actually gave him a look. A _look!_ Dean's gaze darted back to the staircase before returning to Harry's face. He could see in the kid's eyes that if he were to protest, he would be fighting a losing battle. If the kid was really as powerful as everyone seemed to think he was, they would need him for the Apocalypse. They needed all the help they could get.

"Fine," he relented gruffly. "But if she shows up later trying to gank us, I'm not just gonna ignore her."

Harry smiled in relief, his eyes softening as they looked once more at the staircase.

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So… What did you guys think?

QUESTION: Many of you have asked about or mentioned a want for longer chapters. My question is this: would you prefer longer chapters that are posted less frequently, or would you prefer me to post as I am now, which is about once every one to two weeks, with a chapter that is at least 3,000 words long?


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